Happiness Can't Be Arranged
by grayautumnsky13
Summary: AU written for the Love From OQ Valentine's Exchange. Set during the Regency Period, Henry and Cora arrange a marriage for their daughter in an effort to save their family's name and estate.
1. Chapter 1

Regina's hands tremble as the door closes—and she's not sure what she's supposed to do next, other than wait for her worst fear to be fully realized.

It was her wedding night, a night she'd share with her new husband and a man she barely knew.

Looking down at herself, she grimaces at the sheer nightgown she'd been put in by a maid she didn't know. It had been so humiliating—being stripped out of her wedding dress, standing there naked in the mirror as a stranger removed the pins from her hair. She couldn't bear to speak and only now occurred to her that making small talk might have made the whole thing a little less awkward.

Her father had arranged this all and everyone she knew spoke of how good and decent Robin Locksley was for unburdening her aging father, for saving what was left of his estate, perhaps even saving her family's once good name; and maybe, as the years faded away, people would forget the shame she'd brought to it.

Her marriage was part of a land agreement, a contract that tied two neighboring estates together—one up-and-coming, the other once grand, but falling into ruin. The contract was filled with clauses protecting rights to livestock and an agreeing on how to pay for the maintenance of an old barn; there was one about how to split the profits made on a field of barely and another that provided her parents with a handsome allowance that would allow them to grow old in comfort as they'd always expected to do—before she'd ruined it for them. And then, there was the matter of her marriage. It was a little clause tucked between one on how servants would be paid and another on how new farm hands would be hired—an obvious add on that was either an afterthought or a bonus to sweeten the deal, one that seemed to suggest her place in her new household. Regardless or whether or not that was true, her feelings had never been considered—and as her mother reminded her, she'd long ago lost the privilege of consideration.

Her breath caught every time she heard movement in the hall, not used to a full and bustling household anymore—and she tried in vain to let herself relax—just a little as she waited—but she couldn't do that; and she wondered if she'd ever be able to.

Her thoughts drifted to Henry, her five-year old son, and she wondered where he was and if he was afraid. After the ceremony, he'd been shuffled away by a nanny he'd never before laid eyes on—and when she tried to follow, her mother stopped her, reminding her that this was the way it was supposed to be, the way it always should have been. Regina had nodded and watched as Henry disappeared down the corridor, looking worriedly behind himself as his mother drifted further and further away. She'd let out a shaky sigh and looked back to her mother with teary eyes, and Cora's eyes had softened—likely with relief—as she again insisted that her daughter would get used it, that this—not the one she'd tried in vain to choose for herself—was life she'd been meant to live.

Shivering, she turned to the window; the reception was still going on and she could see the ballroom from where she stood. She watched as happy couples danced to music and sipped champagne as they celebrated her marriage and drank to her good fortune—people who only week before looked at her and saw nothing more than a scarlet letter.

The door creaks open and she turns with a start, her eyes growing wide as her arm moves up over her chest—and her cheeks flush at the realization that she can't hide herself.

"For what it's worth," Robin begins as he slips inside the room and closes the door behind him. "You looked beautiful today." Her eyes cast down; she doesn't know how to respond. "I hope that you and Henry will be happy here."

"Happy," she murmurs in a hushed but jaded voice. "You hope for us to be happy."

"Sincerely, yes," he says as he takes a step toward her. "I know our marriage is…"

"A land contract," she cuts in. "Our marriage is a contract—a piece of the contact that _you_ insisted upon."

"Well, yes…"

"And nothing more."

Robin sighs and again he takes a step forward; and instinctively, she takes a step back. "Here," he murmurs quietly, as he pulls a knit blanket from the foot of the bed. "Put this around your shoulders." Blinking up at him, her head tips to the side in confusion, not quite following what he's saying. "I'm not here for… _that_ reason," he tells her as she drapes the blanket around her shoulders and wraps herself in it. "I was hoping we could… talk."

"Talk," she repeats, her voice skeptical as her eyes narrow. "You had me dressed like this so you could… talk to me."

"No," he's quick to say. "I told them not to…" He sighs and for a moment, she believes him. "My father wants to waste no time producing a spare heir to my family's fortune." He pauses as he looks to her. "When I was a child, I took ill and…" His voice trails off as she looks away, hugging the blanket to herself. "Never mind."

For a moment, an awkward silence falls between them and she turns back to see him sit down at the foot of the bed. His shoulders slump forward and his head bows; and she wonders, briefly, if he had much to say about the arrangement, or if it had been the work of their fathers.

"Why did you want to marry me?" She asks, watching as his eyes cast up to meet hers—and for a moment, he doesn't reply. "I just ask because… I'm not exactly the most desirable of choices."

"You were once," he tells her, finally looking back at her. "When you first came out, you were the one all eligible bachelors wanted to dance with." She nods—that was so long ago, and it feels foreign to her, like it was part of someone else's life, not hers. "You were engaged to a prince—Leopold, wasn't it? From some little kingdom near Bavaria?"

"Yes," she replies in a quiet voice, remembering the long trips abroad to see him—and she remembers how each time, she cried for the entire journey. "But that was only until the stable boy got me pregnant." She sighs and offers him a curt little smile. "I became less desirable after that."

"You married him."

"Yes," she says, nodding and a little taken aback by a stranger's knowledge of the intimate details of her personal history—but not surprised by it because as her mother often reminded her, it had all been quite an embarrassing scandal. "I was supposed to go to Switzerland to visit an aunt that doesn't actually exist," she adds. "Instead, I eloped."

"You loved him."

"I did—and he loved me. We were happy."

She watches as a smile tugs up at the corners of his mouth. "That's why I wanted to marry you."

Again, her head tips in confusion. "I… don't understand."

"My first wife—Marian—was everything to me, and now she's gone," he says, his voice hitching a little in his throat. "Our marriage wasn't arranged; we met and fell in love, we married and had a son." He smiles at the memory. "We were lucky, I guess."

"You were," she agrees in a quiet voice, still unsure of where this all going or whether or not she can trust it.

"I married you because I want a mother for my son who understands that love is, by far, the most important thing in this world. I want him to grow up knowing that money and position are meaningless, that they're not a fair trade for love." He smiles as he rises and she watches as he moves tentatively toward her. "I married you because I admire you." Swallowing hard she watches as he nears; her heart beats rapidly and she doesn't move when he leans in and presses a tender kiss to her cheek, just barely grazing the corner of her mouth. "I do sincerely hope that you'll be happy here," he murmurs as he pulls away, taking a few steps back as he reaches for the handle on the door. "Goodnight, M'lady," he says, offering a quick wink and soft smile as he disappears into the darkened corridor.

Letting out a shaky breath, her shoulders finally relax and she turns back to the window, and she can only hope that she will be happy—but deep in her heart, she doubts that happiness can be arranged.


	2. Chapter 2

As her mother kept reminding her, her new life at Sherwood—her new husband's family's estate—was one of comfort and ease; while she didn't have a position or a title, she still was afforded the many amenities that came with one. Though her husband's family was sometimes looked down upon for their "new money" and the unscrupulous ways his grandfather had come into it, their money was never turned away, allowing them to be freer of the constrains of life in society, and as her mother never missed an opportunity to point out—something that always made Regina wish her parents didn't live on a neighboring estate—allowed them to be in a position take on the burden of her and her son.

In the days that followed her wedding, she found herself feeling her way through, grappling to find her place—and more importantly, the place of her son.

There were so many components and so many contradictions—and made her head spin and her stomach churn. She found herself hovering near Henry whenever she could. Neither she nor he were used to spending time apart, and since his birth, she'd been with him almost constantly; so, while she knew that wasn't the custom in a house like Sherwood or for a family like she'd married into, she found herself making special and frequent trips to the nursery and requesting him throughout the day. And already, she could tell that she'd struck a nerve with the nanny.

Robin—her new husband—seemed kind enough; though, she still wasn't sure that his kindness was something that she could trust or rely. On her third morning at Sherwood, she'd awoken late and a housekeeper arrived to dress her; it wasn't until breakfast that she discovered the lady's maid who'd been hired for her had quit. Robin insisted that she'd simply found a better paying post, but she could tell that he was lying—something that was confirmed by the whispers of the other maids, who talked openly in her presence. To ease the tension, she'd told Robin that she didn't need a maid to dress her and she didn't need to have breakfast in her chambers, like women of her new status were expected to do; after all, she'd spent the years of marriage dressing herself and eating in the company of others—and though she tried to play it off like a preference, rather than something to save her from the inevitable embarrassment of having another maid quit _on principle_.

Her father-in-law quickly proven to be less coy, making his expectation of her very clear. He wanted another grandchild—preferably a grandson—in return for the favor of unburdening her aging parents, and already he wasn't subtle in his reminders to her or his son.

She held her breath as she entered the dining and though her head was down and her eyes focused on her feet, she could feel their eyes on her as she slid into her seat. A footman offered her a tray of fruit and she selected a few pieces before an egg and small bowl of porridge was placed in front of her, and when she reached for the jam, her father-in-law sighed loudly, demanding her attention. She looked up to see that Robin's jaw was tense and she couldn't help but think she was walking to the middle of something.

"I couldn't help but notice," the older man said in an even voice, "That once again my son slept alone in his chambers."

"That's none of your business," Robin returned, his eyes narrowing. "Nor is it the sort of thing you should speak of in the presence of a lady."

"A _lady_ …"

"Father…"

"All I am saying is that I'd like the hard-earned fortune my father amassed to be protected."

Pressing her eyes closed, Regina attempted to will her cheeks not to flush—and though she knew her efforts were in vain, it was all that she could do as Robin's voice grew louder and he insisted that the fortune was protected and it had been since Roland's birth.

"Besides," he added, his tone suddenly shifting. "Regina's already fulfilled her duty to provide an heir to the fortune." Her eyes fly open just in time to see her father-in-law's eyes widen and a smug smile stretches over Robin's lips. "If our marriage is to be a contract binding our estates, then it only seems fair that her son, too, would be considered a rightful heir." Her breath catches in her chest and her eyes slide to Robin. "It's already done."

"I'm sorry?"

"The day of my wedding, I changed my last will and testament. Henry—my wife's son—will inherit."

The old man's face flushes further. "In the sad circumstance that something happens to…"

"No," Robin interjects. "There's more than enough money to split between them." Standing up, he tosses his napkin down, offering a haughty little laugh as he pushes back his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm to meet with the estate executor to go over some of our investments."

He nods once to his father and then to her—winking as she sits there numbly in her place, unable to move or to process what he's said. And as soon as he's gone his father rises, shoving himself away from the table so hard that the china and glassware rattle; and as he throws down his napkin, he shoots her a glaring look that sinks her stomach and makes a chill run down her spine, then he leaves her to grapple with the information that's been dropped in front of her—and wonder whether or not it's true, or nothing more than a rebellious son jabbing had his father's expectation of tradition.

Henry lays a triangular block down and smiles up at Regina—his castle is complete. "It needs a dragon," he tells her with a little nod as his fingers push at the block, pushing it so that it's even with the others. "You know, to protect it."

"To protect it," she repeats as a small smile edges onto her lips. "Why exactly does your block castle need to be protected by a dragon?"

"Because, Mama," Henry says, a soft giggle behind his words. "You never know when it's going to be attacked!"

Regina's eyes narrow in her son's direction and she leans back on her elbows beside him, stoking her fingers through his hair. "But why a dragon? Why not a knight or… a really deep moat?"

"Because dragons have fiery breath can melt through anything," he tells her in a very serious and matter-of-fact voice that makes her laugh. "I wish I could be a dragon."

"You don't think a dragon would knock down the castle with its tail? It is a very tiny castle."

Henry looks at the castle, tilting his head from side to side as he examines the blocks. "Then maybe a very tiny dragon should protect it," he says.

"And where do you suppose you're going to find a tiny dragon to protect your tiny castle?"

Henry's brow creases as he looks back at her, and in that moment, he looks so much Daniel—bright eyed and pensive, imaginative and considerate—for a for a brief moment, her heart pangs with longing, wishing that he were there with them, wishing that they were still in their little apartment above a tavern they'd found work in, wishing that they life they'd built together hadn't crumbled in just an afternoon.

"I… don't know," Henry confesses, bringing her back into the present moment. "I don't think I can make a tiny dragon out of blocks." Shaking her head, she reaches for Henry and pulls him into her lap, peppering his cheeks with kisses as he wriggles against her, making her laugh. Her fingers begin to tickle his sides and his stomach and his laugh grows louder and louder as he screams and squirms, and his face turns red.

She looks up as the nursery door and her smile fades, her heart fluttering with nervousness as her new husband peeks into the room. Her eyes shift to him and she watches as he steps into the room—and she can't help but notice that Henry freezes in her lap, his eyes wide and his lips pursed.

It's not that Robin has been unkind—in fact, he's in the week they've spent together, he's been nothing other than hospitable. He smiles and he holds open doors, and when she passes, his hand brushes lightly at the small of her back to guide her. At dinner, he always asks about her day and whether or not she likes the food, and his personality is agreeable; yet she doubts it'll last. His patience will eventually run thin and he'll slowly but surely realize the disadvantages of their arrangement—she knew it, and so did everyone else.

Her mother was already proving to be a constant reminder of that.

But nonetheless, a small smile tugs onto her lips as Robin crouches down in front of Henry. "Well, hello, Henry," he begins, a warm smile stretching over his lips. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Henry replies shyly as he burrows back into her. "H-how are you?"

"I'm well," Robin tells him. "Well, except for one teeny-tiny detail." He pauses for a moment, his eyes shifting briefly to Regina, and then back to Henry. "I just can't understand why you are playing inside on such a beautiful spring day." Instinctively, Regina's head bends and drops a kiss to Henry's hair, and Henry's eyes cast down.

"It seems," Regina begins, trying in vain to keep her voice even and void of emotion, not wanting to place blame where it didn't belong. "Nanny took Roland to the pond to watch the frogs swim."

"Oh," Robin breathes out, his jaw tightening as his eyes sink closed. "I see, and would you would like to go down to the pond and watch the frogs swim?" Regina's eyes shift from Robin to Henry, and she watches as his head bobs up and down as he nods—and then, a bright smile stretches onto Robin's lips. "Then you shall."

"But they already left."

"There's no reason we can't catch up to them," Robin says, tapping the bottom of Henry's bare foot. "Now, run along and go find your shoes. It's too cold to walk in the mud without them." Henry nods again as he scrambles to his feet, padding toward the adjoining bedroom; and then, Robin's attention turns to her. "I… suppose it goes without saying that he was alone before you came in to play?"

For a moment, she doesn't reply; she's not quite sure how. He doesn't need to know that Henry had been sitting on the floor, his bottom lip pouted out fumbled with his fingers and struggled not to cry. He doesn't need to know that Henry is a shy boy, not one to speak up, not one to interrupt or simply tag along. She doesn't want to tell him that since returning to the countryside and to her father's estate, Henry hasn't had a play date; the children of the women she'd grown up with, women she'd once thought would be her life-long friends, weren't allowed to play with her son—such a thing might sully their reputations.

"I'm sorry," he says, taking her silence as confirmation. "I… I'm just sorry."

"It's fine."

"No. It's not."

And before she can say anymore, Henry comes running out of the bedroom with his shoes untied and sweater half on. Regina laughs as she catches him by the arm, helping him into his sweater and tying his shoes as he fidgets impatiently. To her surprise, Robin lifts him onto his shoulders and Henry giggles, as they walk down the hall. Unlike Henry, she has no trouble tagging along when an invite hasn't been extended; and the three of them make their way across the expansive lawn of the Locksley estate. She stays quiet, not saying much, only listening as Henry tells Robin about the castle he made and the dragon he hopes will protect it. Robin asks him all sorts of silly questions—and she feels a smile tug onto her lips as he inquires about whether a prince or a king occupies the castle and what color he'd like the dragon to be. Henry answers thoughtfully, and each answer is met by another question—and she can't help but feel a little fluttering of gratitude at her core.

When they reach the pond Roland waves his arms wildly at them, smiling broadly as his whole face lights up. Robin sets Henry onto the grass and gently pushes him forward—and when Roland points to a frog hopping near the blanket and Henry moves quickly to watch it. A smile tugs onto Regina's lips as Henry sits beside Roland and grins as the frog hops into the water, a little droplet jumping up from the pond as the boys giggle—and then her eyes shift to the nanny and harden.

"Nanny Celeste," Robin's voice calls out. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" Regina blinks as her lips part, and she watches as the Nanny comes to them; and for a moment, she wonders if she should step aside. But as she takes a step toward the boys, but Robin's fingers touch to the back of her hand. "I couldn't help but notice that you forgot one of the children," he begins, scoffing a little as his eyes narrow and the nanny shifts awkwardly on her feet. "And I just don't see how you could have made such an oversight."

"He… didn't want to come along."

"Regardless," Robin's quick to say, "He's five. He can't be left unattended." He pauses for a moment. "Nanny Celeste, I realize that when we hired you it was to look after my son, to look after one child; but I'm married now, and that means your job is to look after both my son and my wife's son. If you can't do that or if two children are too much for you, I… regret to say it, but… I'm afraid you'll have to find another post."

"Mr. Locksley, that's not the case at all. I'm more than capable of…"

"Good, I'm very glad to hear it," Robin cuts in, with a curt little smile. "Now, if you'll excuse us, my wife and I have to get back to the house for luncheon with my father."

The nanny nods and does a slight curtsey as Robin's hand slips to Regina's back, and turns her back toward the house. She hesitates momentarily, looking back over her shoulder at Henry, watching the way his fingers skim atop the water—and or a moment, she doesn't want to go.

"He'll be fine," Robin murmurs. "I promise."

She looks back at him, ready to protest; there's no way that he can know that. There's no way that he can know what will happen once the walk away; but before she can say anything, Henry laughs out and she turns her head to see him laying back on the blanket as Roland points up to a puffy cloud—and she finds herself wondering if she's being too overly protective. Her chest tightens as she nods and turns away, following him away from the pond and back toward the estate.

They walked back to the house in silence.

She wanted to ask about what had happened at breakfast that day and she wanted to ask about the incident with the nanny, but she wasn't sure whether or not she should or how her questioning would be received; because as nice as he seemed, she wasn't sure how he'd respond to her uncertainty or whether or not he'd see it as a challenge.

The wind picked up as the approached the house—and grin tugged onto his lips as he watched her struggle to keep her skirt from forming around her legs. "So, tell me," he begins. "What is it that you're not saying?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You keep looking at me like you want to say something," he says as his eyes move up from her skirt. "So, what is it?"

"I… don't know what…"

"Regina," he cuts in. "We may not know each other very well, but…"

"You're right," she interjects as she smoothes her hands over her skirt. "We don't know each other." For a moment, he doesn't reply. His eyes narrow, but his grin remains and he looks like he's sizing her up—and she realizes, he's waiting for something, waiting for her to set the tone of their interactions. She hesitates for a moment, not really sure what to say or how to say it, only realizing that if she wants to be treated like an equal in their marriage, she has to show him that; otherwise, he'll tire of trying to figure her out and, if she's deep down, she knows she can't afford to alienate him.

"Thank you," she says after a moment. "I appreciate the kindness you've showed my son."

"He's five," Robin says plainly. "It's impossible for me not to be kind to him. He's a sweet boy."

"Yes, he is," she nods, agreeing on all accounts. "I can't let him get hurt."

"He won…"

"Did you mean it?" She asks, her voice rising over his. "What you said to your father."

For a moment, he doesn't reply—and she feels the knot in her stomach tightening as his head tip curiously to the side. "Why would I not have meant it?"

"I don't know," she says easily. "I don't know you. I don't know why you do or say the things that you do, but I do know that when it comes to my son and his future and the way he's treated _I don't know_ isn't good enough." She shakes her head as her heart beat quickens, and suddenly she feels emboldened. "I'm not sure what I walked into this morning, but it seemed obvious that you were getting under your father's skin—that you were enjoying it—and that's all well and good, but if you are going to use my son to do it, I…"

"I meant it." Robin cuts in. "I meant every word of it—and then some."

"And then some?"

He nods. "The sad truth is that neither of our sons will remember their other parents. Roland won't remember Marian and Henry won't remember Daniel. Certainly, they'll know them through the stories we tell them, but their memories won't be their own." He pauses and his shoulders shrug. "What they will remember is growing up together in this house. I don't intend on raising them separately, Regina; and should something happen to me, I wanted my intention made clear in my will."

"I see…" she murmurs, somewhat taken aback not really understanding his generosity, but this time believing in it. " I don't know what to say," she tells him, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Thank you just seems…"

"Unnecessary," Robin supplies as a grin pulls onto his lips. "I want our boys to have a good life; it's as simple as that."

"And… what exactly do you get out of this?"

His grin brightens and he chuckles softly as he offers her his arm. "An ally," he tells her simply—and she can't help but smile in return, and in spite of herself, she can't help but think that maybe—just this one time—things might work to her benefit.


	3. Chapter 3

Regina stands in the window with tears burning in her eyes as she watches Cora's carriage pull away from the house. Her eyes press closed and her arms cross around her body; and it's only through sheer willpower that she doesn't cry.

Growing up, she'd been told that marriage would be her refuge—that it would take her away. Nannies and governesses, dance instructors and a French tutor—really everyone who'd spent any time with her in her parents' house—all told her that her mother's critical tongue was temporary. For her entire life, she never once sat up straight enough or picked the right dress; always too casual when she should have been proper, but never able to take a joke. She always ate too much of the wrong things, she put her elbows on table, and she ran up and down the long corridors instead of walking in way that was ladylike. But each and every time her mother lashed out at her, someone would remind her that it was temporary—that one day she'd be married and she'd have a household of her own to run; she'd have a husband and her own children, and she'd be able to set the rules. And each and every time, she'd close her eyes and picture herself far, far away.

Life hadn't quite panned out the way everyone anticipated. She did marry and she did move away—and for those short years, she was happy with the life she'd chosen for herself. But then the unthinkable happened and she found herself back at her at her parents' estate—she had no other viable options to support herself and Henry—and this time, her mother's sharp criticism had a harder edge. Deep down, she knew that she couldn't completely disagree—she'd made the decisions that she made—there was no changing any of it—but she hated the burden it would eventually place on her son's shoulders. And now, here she was—married again, but this time in an arrangement not of her choosing, married to man she didn't know, in a household that didn't want her. While her new husband seemed kind enough—he smiled and he listened, and not only did he seem to genuinely like her, he was good and kind to Henry. Though, in the back of her head, she constantly wondered when he was going to tire of her, when he's stopped being amused and when the admiration of what he believed to be her character would thin—and she wondered when he'd begin to insist on some sort of repayment for the burden he'd lifted from her family, when he'd start to expect certain things—certain marital obligations—from her.

 _That_ particular detail was one that her mother reminded her of whenever she came to visit. And her given the close proximity of her parents' and her new husband's estates, her mother's visits seemed increasingly more frequent.

"There you are," Robin says, startling her as he comes into the room. "I was…" He stops as she lets out a shaky voice. "Regina are you…"

"Fine," she says, turning to face him. Her whole demeanor changes—her shoulders straighten and she puts on a smile as she blinks away her tears—but her eyes focus just beyond him, giving her away.

"You're not fine."

"I… am," she says, looking back to him, "Or as fine as a person can be after tea with my mother."

A smile tugs onto his lips. "Would tea with your mother be anything like a few hours of hunting with my father? That usually ends with me silently praying that my gun will misfire, and take me out rather than some poor unfortunate bird." She can't help but laugh and when she does, she can't help but notice the way his smile warms. "Perhaps you can put it out of your head long enough to go for a walk with me?"

"Oh, I don't…"

"Please," he cuts in, his smile glittering in his eyes and making it impossible for her not to smile in return. "My reasons aren't purely selfish," he tells her. "Often times after long interactions with my father, I find that fresh air helps with the nausea and self-deprecation… and, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

She's not sure why, but she finds herself nodding—and then a few minutes later, they're walking together across the rolling green grass of the estate. Robin does most of the talking—telling her about an old oak tree he used to climb as a boy and a cobblestone path that leads to the garden. He tells her about the estate—talking about architecture and additions that are now hundreds of years old and he makes a quip about having memorized all of these details a teenager in an effort to charm the young ladies who attended the parties his parents' hosted.

Regina smiled at the anecdote, vaguely remember a night of champagne and dancing in the house's ornate ballroom—an evening she spent sulking in the corner and thinking of Daniel.

"So… are you going to tell me what your mother said that had you so upset?"

"I wasn't upset," she tells him, trying her best to sound aloof. "You just startled me."

"You were practically in tears." She sighs and shakes her head, but when she looks over at him, ready to spin a story and dismiss his suspicion, something in his eyes stops her. "It… might help to talk about it," he adds.

Taking a breath, she nods. "My mother was just… reminding me of… my…" Her eyes close and she turns her face away, "My obligations to you."

"I see…"

"In not so many words, she reminded me that I need to earn my keep."

Robin blinks as she looks back to him and she feels her cheeks flushing with embarrassment; but when her eyes meet his, its somehow hard to feel embarrassed. "That's ridiculous. You don't owe me anything."

"Don't I?" She shrugs her shoulders as Cora's words echo in her ears. "At some point, one would assume…"

"You shouldn't make assumptions."

Her eyebrow arches. "You say that now…"

"And I'll say it in a week and again in a month… in a year…" He pauses for a moment, and she watches as he tentatively places his hand on her arm, stopping her and waiting for her to look up at him. "Can I be… honest with you?"

"Of course…"

"I like you, Regina; and the more I get to know you, the more I like you." His voice trails off, and she watches as he hesitates, his eyes narrowing as he tries to select his words carefully; and in her chest, she feels a little nervous flutter that almost feels like anticipation—and she feels guilty for it. "And… I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested in a… more intimate relationship with you, but I won't force it."

Swallowing hard, she tries to look at him, but finds it difficult to let him hold her gaze and not wanting to have this discussion. "And… how long before you tire of that? How long before the desire for another child or for… that sort of companionship begins to outweigh your patience and courtesy toward me?"

"Never," he murmurs. "Regina, I mean it when I say that I won't force you. That sort of relationship would only be enjoyable if it were something we both enjoyed." She nods a little as her eyes shift to his and she watches a smile draw onto his lips. "As for a child… well… I've said it once and I'll say it again—you've already given me a child. Day after day, I find myself not-so-slowly falling in love with Henry."

She feels a smile tugging up onto her lips—and then a churning in her stomach.

There's a part of her that wishes she could hate him; a part of her that wishes her were vile and unlikable, that he didn't always seem to say the right thing at the right time, that he didn't have such good intentions, that his heart wasn't kind and open, that his eyes weren't soft or his words seemingly so sincere. Because if he were anything other than what he's is, it wouldn't feel like such a betrayal.

She feels herself beginning to crumble—her jaw trembles and tears flood her eyes—and suddenly, the only thing she can think of is Daniel and how much she misses him.

Robin softens, his eyes widening with empathy as he takes a tentative step toward her. Her breath catches and his arm folds around her shoulders and though it's a little awkward, he pulls her to him. He holds her loosely and his rubs between her shoulder blades as she cries—and despite not knowing what _it_ is, he tells her over and over again that it'll be alright.

"I'm sorry," she says after a few minutes as she pushes herself back and out of his hold. "I… shouldn't have…"

"It's really alright."

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and she presses her eyes close. "No, it isn't." Her breath hitches in her throat and her eyes flutter open. "None of this is alright. It's… it's not that I'm ungrateful because you've been so wonderful to me and to Henry, but this isn't where we're supposed to be." Shaking her head, she lets out a shaky breath. "He wasn't supposed to die."

Robin reaches for her hand and leads her to a bench that's situation beneath a willow tree. "I know how you feel," he murmurs as he sits down beside her. "And I'm… I'm sorry." She fumbles with her hands as her eyes shift back to him—and she's not sure what to say. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

A little smile tugs onto her lips and she shakes her head. "You've heard it. Everyone has."

"I'd rather hear about it from you."

"I already told you what hap…"

"No," he cuts in as his smile warms. "You gave me the bare bones of the story. Tell me something… real."

"Real," she repeats in a skeptical voice, unused to people inquiring in way that wasn't caddy. "I… I don't know." Her lip catches between her teeth as she looks up at him. "What do you want to know?"

Robin leans back on the bench and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't know. Anything," he says as a grin pulls onto his lips. "You decide."

Regina nods and takes a breath, and for a moment, she doesn't say anything at all because she's not sure what to say. Everyone knew about the love affair they'd had—they knew some of the most intimate of details. But all of the little blips of memories that get her through the darkest of days seem to somehow diminish him—and it's almost impossible to choose just one story to tell, one story that captures who Daniel was and what he meant to her.

And then a soft smile tugs onto her lips.

"I… may have told you that after we ran away, Daniel found work at an inn?" She turns her head to look at him, watching as he nods—and she can't help but notice how genuinely interested he seems. "Well, the inn was his cousins—he and his wife ran it—and they rented us a room on the top floor in exchange for help at the inn." A little laugh rises into her voice as a slight grin works its way onto her lips. "I was completely useless. I couldn't even boil an egg, but Daniel used to bartend and work in the stables, tending to guests' horses and… we were happy there."

"It sounds like you had a quaint little life there."

"We did," she nods—and smile warms and for a moment, he gets lost in her memories. "Daniel used to work late sometimes, and he'd come in long after Henry and I had gone to bed—and every single time, he'd wake Henry up to play. They'd get out the blocks and Daniel would read to him or sing to him and… Henry would get all riled up and Daniel would inevitably fall asleep and…" Her voice trails off as her eyes meet Robin's. "It's funny, the things that used to make me crazy are the things I miss the most."

"Marian snored," Robin says flatly as he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight and understanding little squeeze. "For months after she died, the silence kept me awake and… still, there's little I wouldn't give to wake up in the middle of the night to that god awful sound."

She looks down at his hand over hers and taking a short breath, then turns her hand over in his and gives it a soft squeeze. "We are quite the pair, aren't we?"

"I'd like to think so," he says as he slowly stands and pulls her up. "Now come on, there's something else I'd like to show you on the other side of the garden."

There's a little fluttering in her chest as he gives her hand a tug, leading her across the grass. They walk slowly toward a destination he's yet to reveal and she finds herself—for the very first time since their marriage—unbothered by the unknown ahead of them. Neither says anything and she suspects he's just as caught up in the not-so-distant memories of lost love as she is—and somehow, that's a comfort.

"You said there was something you wanted to talk to me about," she says after awhile, breaking the silence between them and watching as his brow furrows for a moment—and then, there's a spark of recognition in his eyes, and a little hesitation as his lips part. "Should I be worried?"

"No, no," he says, "I just… I was thinking that it's time we hire a ladies maid for you. I hope you don't mind that I placed an advertisement." Her breath catches and her stomach drops—and for a moment, her chest feels tight at the memory of the short-lived relationship with her previous maid. "I was hoping we could go through the applicants together and that you'd sit with me during the interviews." A little smile stretches across his lips. "I'd really like to be able to choose someone you like, someone you feel comfortable with, someone who…"

"That's thoughtful," she cuts in. "Thank you."

"Is that a yes?"

For a moment, she hesitates—and then, she finds herself nodding. "It is."

He laughs a little and again, she feels that soft fluttering in her chest as he offers her his arm—and as she takes a short breath, she links her arm through his—and they continue to walk together, trading happy memories of another lifetime.


	4. Chapter 4

A slow breath escapes her as she watches Belle select an ivory and gold clasp for her hair, and she offers her a tight but genuine smile as she nods her approval. It's only Belle's third day and though her new maid didn't know very much about styling hair or lacing corsets, she's a sweet girl who'd been sincerely thankful for the job.

During her interview, it was obvious that she was the least qualified; she'd never even been as much as a housemaid. But she was young and didn't have any expectations–and when she looked at woman she'd be working for, she did so without the least bit of judgment and it didn't appear she even knew of the scandal. But the thing that sold them–both Regina and Robin–was that she knew she was unqualified. She'd been quiet in the interview, shaking her head to most of their questions and when Robin's gentle voice asked why she'd applied she'd sheepishly explained that her mother died when she was young–something that struck a nerve with both Robin and Regina–and now her father was sick. She'd started to get up, ready to excuse herself and likely to apologize when Regina's lips parted, ready to ask her to continue; but Robin's voice beat hers and they'd continued on with the interview, and at its end, they'd offered her the job.

She'd smiled brightly and hugged them both–and as she left, Regina found her eyes shifting to her new husband, a man she was only starting to know, but a man who so far kept surprising her–and surprising her in the best possible way.

"Thank you," Regina murmurs as Belle ties a ribbon at her neck. "That's perfect." The girl smiles and her cheeks flush a little as Regina rises from her dressing table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to check on my son before breakfast."

Belle does a little curtsey as she goes, and as Regina makes her way toward the nursery, she finds herself walking down the long and wide corridors a bit more comfortably than she had before. She's not sure what it is–and her perhaps, it's just the natural result of time–but there's something to be said for not starting her days alone, something to be said for having a proper ladies' maid who makes small talk and offers little compliments, and offers a sense of normalcy she's never been used to.

Peeking her head into the nursery, it's quieter than it is most mornings–and when she pushes open the door, she first sees Henry, still in his night clothes and sitting in a rocking chair. Her eyebrows arch and her head tips to the side as Henry points to Roland who's still in bed.

"He's sick," Henry says in a loud whisper. "Nanny went to warm the basin."

"I see," Regina murmurs as she steps into the room, "And why are you sitting all the way over here and… not dressed? Are you sick, too?"

Henry shakes his head. "Nanny said I shouldn't go near him 'cause I'll get sick, too." He sighs and his little shoulders rise and fall a bit dramatically. "She said one sick boy is hard enough to manage."

Regina's eyebrows arch and before she can respond, Roland whisper from across the room–and she turns to look at him, her eyes immediately softening. "Hi," she murmurs as she takes a few steps toward him. "You're not feeling well?" Roland shakes his head and clutches to his blanket. "What's the matter?"

"I'm cold and…" He sniffles. "My throat is scratchy and…" He sniffles again and a little smile stretches across her lips as he bats the back of his hand over his nose. "And my eyes are all watery and…" He sniffles. "Everything hurts."

"Oh," Regina breathes out as she sits on the edge of the bed, pressing her hand to his forehead. "That's not a fun way to start a day, is it?" Roland shakes his head. "What would you say if I said I could have you feeling better in no time?"

Roland's eyes widen and he sniffles again. "Are you magic?"

"No," she laughs as she presses her hand to his cheek. "But I do have a couple of tricks up my sleeve." Roland lifts his head a little and looks at her wrists, his brow furrowing in confusion when he only finds the lacy cuffs of her dress. She smiles and turns to Henry, holding out her free hand to him. She hugs him into her side and presses a kiss to his temple. "Can you go to my room and find my medicine box? It has blue flowers on it, and should be in my bureau."

Henry nods and runs off, and she turns her attention back to Roland. "C'mere," she says, shifting herself up and slipping her arm beneath him, lifting him up from the bed. She grabs his blanket and can't help but smile as his head falls to her shoulder. She settles with him in the rocking chair and folds the blanket around him–and he cuddles into her, practically melting.

When Henry returns, he's carrying a box covered in white silk and embroidered with blue flowers–a box that's traveled with her through every phase of her life. She directs Henry to a little brown glass bottle with a cork top. He hands it to her, then occupies himself with looking through the rest of the box's contents–organizing bottles by size and keeping them separate from the salts–and she occupies herself with her stepson. She rubs the oil on the bottom of his feet and on his chest–and she laughs a little as he breathes it in and she continues to rock and cuddle him.

"What's going on here?" Celeste says abruptly as she steps into the room with a large basin in her hands "You… should be at breakfast."

Regina's eyebrow arches. "And you should be tending to the children."

"That's exactly what I'm doing," she says, hoisting the basin as if that were proof. "I was…"

"Warming some water, I know," Regina cuts in. "But warm water isn't going to cure him and…" she nods to Henry at her feet. "This one isn't even dressed, and it's nearly nine."

Celetes's jaw tightens. "I can take it from here."

"No," Regina says easily, in almost a sing-song voice. "I've got him."

"But…. you're…" She bristles as she sets the basin on the nightstand. "It's my job."

"I understand," Regina replies, nodding curtly as she continues to rock Roland. "So, I'll take care of this one, while you dress the other, and then we'll switch. I'll take Henry down to breakfast and you can… do whatever it is you planned to do with that bowl of water." She pauses. "And before I got, you should let the kitchen staff know that they should prepare some chicken stock with extra carrots." A grin stretches over her lips as she looks down at Roland. "He'll have it as an early luncheon."

"Chicken soup…"

"With extra carrots."

Celeste's jaw tightens and she inhales a short breath, quickly inhaling it as she reaches for Henry's hand–and Regina watches as she disappears with him into the adjoining room.

"Why extra carrots?" Robin asks, as he pushes into the room. "I know chicken soup has been known to help with all sorts of ailments, but what will the carrots do?"

A grin twists onto Regina's lips and her shoulders shrug. "I've just noticed that he likes them."

"He does," Robin says with a nod, his eyes sparkling with what seems like surprise. "You're very observant."

"With things that matter."

"And my son matters to you," he says careful not to punctuate his words with a question mark. Regina's grin brightens and she feels her cheeks flushing, and for a moment, she focuses her attention on the little boy in her arms. She watches the way his eyelids flutter and the way his nose wiggles as he sniffles, and she can feel him drifting to sleep. "You're good with him," Robin says after a moment. "He doesn't let just anyone hold him like that, you know."

"Well, I do have some experience with little boys who don't feel well," she says, as a little chuckle rises into her voice. "I am very proud to say that over the last five years, I've treated every illness, mended every cut and scrape, kissed every bruise, quelled every fear, and somehow managed to weather each and every panic my son has put me through." She shakes her head, "This little cold is nothing."

"And you did all that on your own…"

"I had help… for a while."

She watches as Robin's lips part, as if he's about to say something–and she watches as he falters. His eyes narrow and his head tips to the side, and just before he speaks, he takes a breath–and when he finally pushes out his voice, she's convinced that it isn't what he meant to say.

"Breakfast is… ready," he murmurs. "Shall we, uh, go down?"

"You go," she says as her eyes fall back to Roland, whose cheek is pressed against her chest as he dozes. "I'll stay here until Celeste comes back." A little smile pulls onto her lips. "It's… nice to have someone this small to hold on to."

Glancing up, she watches him hesitate, and again, it looks like there's something he wants to say–and again, he doesn't say it. Instead, he nods and murmurs something she doesn't quite catch as he disappears into the hall. With a sigh, she pushes away the messy curls from his forehead and lets her fingers slide down his cheek–he's so soft and sweet, and he reminds her so much of Henry at that age.

When Henry started his third year–when he was about the age that Roland is now–he'd had a mother and a father. They lived in their cozy little apartment above an inn and Daniel loved to put on puppet shows. Henry's favorite puppet was a little red dragon that Daniel had made from an old scrap of fabric, and whenever Henry saw Daniel pull the dragon from the drawer where he was kept, he'd clap his chubby little hands with excitement. Daniel always told stories of the amazing adventure the dragon went on, and Henry would laugh and beg for more–and Daniel always obliged. And then by the time that Henry turned four, the dragon's adventures had stopped and she'd been left to parent him alone.

Regina cuddles Roland a little closer as her eyes close and she fights the urge to cry. Her thoughts are full of Daniel and of Henry, and of that scrap of fabric she could never quite bring to life the same way Daniel had. She finds her thoughts drifting to Roland and the memories he'll never have with his own mother–and she thinks of how lucky Henry is for the handful of memories he has of his father, regardless of how fuzzy they might be.

The opening of the door brings her back into the present moment, and she pushes away her tears just as Celeste brings Henry back into the room. He's dressed and his hair is combed, and she finds herself smiling–and for some reason, he looks so grown up to her.

"Did you request the soup?"

"I did, ma'am," Celeste says, her voice a little curt and her smile too tight. "Chicken broth with carrots."

"Extra carrots?"

"Extra carrots," Henry answers. "I heard her tell one of the footmen."

"Good," Regina says, as she threads her fingers through Roland's messy hair. "It should be ready for him in time for luncheon." Celeste only nods as Regina slowly rise, careful not to wake the sleeping boy. She can feel her watching as she puts him back into his bed and draws the covers up around him, and then, she turns of the nanny. "Twice more today," she says, handing her the little bottle of oil. "On the bottoms of his feet and on his chest, just before and after his nap."

Celeste takes the bottle and says nothing, and Regina reaches for Henry's hand. He takes it gingerly, swinging it back and forth as they make their way downstairs and to the dining room–and once again, she finds herself lost in the bittersweet memories of Daniel and Henry.

"Mama?" He asks, looking up at her as his brow furrows–and it's only then that she realizes they'll soon be walking into an argument taking place in the dining room.

Someone's fist slams against the table; and then, Robin's voice rises. "You can not be serious!"

"Have you any other explanation?"

"A thousand!"

"Oh? A thousand?" Richard–her new father-in-law inquires, his voice rising to meet his son's. "A thousand better than your new wife's notorious past?"

"That's hardly fair…"

"Finally! We agree!"

"Regina has nothing to do with this!" Robin spats, his voice incredulous. "You can't blame her because no one wants to come to your little soiree."

"What does notorious mean?" Henry asks as he chew on his lip. "Why did he say you have a notorious past?"

"Oh, um, it… it means 'well-known,'" she stammers. "As in… a lot of people know about it."

"Oh…"

She can see his next question forming and she gives his hand a light squeeze to momentarily distract him. "Oh, Henry," she murmurs. "We left my medicine box in the nursery. Can you go find it and put it away in my bureau?" He hesitates a moment–and she suspects he knows that it's mostly an excuse–but he nods, letting go of her hand as he runs off toward the master staircase. She watches him go and exhales a breath as Robin's father continues to shout.

"You seem to forget our family has their own notorious past–and that has never seemed to deter people."

"That's different and that's long forgotten!"

"It is different," Robin scoffs. "What Regina did was done for love, and nothing else. What our family did was gr…"

"That's enough!" Richard bellows, his voice rising over Robin's. "I won't hear anymore of this."

She flinches as the heavy door is thrown open and her father-in-law stomps out. He grunts something indecipherable but dripping with rage as he passes her, and when she looks into the dining room Robin's looking at her partly apologetic and partly disappointed.

"How much of that did you hear?" He asks, taking a step toward her.

"Enough."

"I'm so sorry, Regina."

"On the upside, my son learned a new word this morning. He can now define 'notorious.'" Robin's eyes widen as he sides, shaking his head as a little smile pulls onto her lips. "Am I… really the reason that… no one is coming to your father's… party?"

Robin shakes his head. "No."

"You're just being kind, aren't you?"

"I'm not, I swear it," he insists. "He never checks before scheduling these things and when they fall through, he's always looking for someone else to blame."

"Me."

"You," Robin sighs. "In spite of the fact that Leopold and Eva Blanchard are having a birthday party for their daughter, Mary-Margaret, and the event has been on his calendar for more than a month."

"Ah…"

"Again, I'm… so sorry."

She takes a short breath and shrugs. "I'm used to it, really. I just… wish my son hadn't heard." Robin sighs and she shifts a little. "I… appreciate you defending me, though. That was… very kind."

"You're easy to defend." Her eyebrow arches and a smile stretches across his lips. "And, in a way, it's a good thing that my father became all blustery before he could dig into to this morning's breakfast."

"Is it?" She asks, laughing a little as her eyes narrow. "Is it really?"

Robin nods. "It is because it gives me a chance to have a lovely breakfast with my lovely wife and for me to properly thank you."

"Thank me," she says flatly. "For what? Infuriating your father?"

"Well, no, that was just… an added perk." He motions for her to come into the room, and a little hesitantly, she does. He pulls out a chair and grins up at her. "I want to thank you for being so sweet with my son."

"Oh, that was… nothing," she says as she sits down and lets him push in the chair. "I was just…"

"Giving him something he's never had," Robin cuts in, rounding to the other side of the table. "A mother's love." Her cheeks flush as she sits down across from her and waves over a footman who offers Regina a a few links of sausage and a spoonful of scrambled eggs. She smiles and nods her thanks as a second footman offers her a waffle–something that's long been a favorite at Sherwood. He scoops a spoonful of apricot jam and holds it out to her and before she can shake her head to decline it, Robin's voice cuts in. "My wife prefers the apple butter."

The footman looks up and nods, offering him the apricot and turning back to the tray to retrieve the requested apple butter. "How astute," Regina murmurs, as a grin tugs onto her lips and her eyes meet Robin's.

"You're not the only one who notices things," Robin tells her as he offers her a quick wink as the footman returns with the jar of apple butter.


	5. Chapter 5

Regina stands in the mirror, smiling at bit awkwardly at herself as Belle fastens the buttons at the back of her dress.

Her hands slide down the skirt of the dress, her fingers circling around the beaded flowers embroidered on the pale gold skirt, and her eyes focus on the beaded detail beneath her bust. The beads are a deep blue and sewn into a circle, surrounded by a row of gold and burgundy beads, and they feel cool against her fingertips–such a contrast to the things she's used to wearing. She takes a breath as she watches Belle pushes a beaded comb into her hair and smiles at her–it's been so long since she had something new to wear, and she'd forgotten how it made her feel.

There were only a few times she'd been able to choose her clothes–usually, her mother had chosen for her. She chose unflattering pastels–soft petal pink was favorite–and after she'd run away, she had little use for evening gowns.

"All set," Belle says, smiling as she clasps the necklace around Regina's neck, and Regina touches the embroidered ribbon that criss-crosses over top of deep blue satin fabric. "And I must say, you look beautiful, m'lady."

"And I concur…" Regina turns to see Robin's head peeking into her room and a warm smile stretching onto his lips. "In fact, beautiful somehow seems to be an understatement."

Belle giggles and Regina's eyes roll, as Robin pushes into the room, his hands behind his back, and she's not sure what it is, but her stomach flutters. As tentative as she was about her new husband and his intentions, she had to admit, he was sweet… and he seemed to find joy in making her smile.

A few days before, Robin informed her that they'd be attending Mary-Margaret Blanchard's birthday celebration, after all–and her breath had hitched in her throat. He'd stumbled through his explanation–he planned on talking to her about the soiree and whether or not she wanted to attend; but then his father confirmed their attendance, and while everything was seemingly set in stone, he'd offered to give her an out if she truly didn't want to attend and he'd provided a number of plausible excuses.

It'd been years since she attended any sort of social gathering–her wedding to Robin not included–and the thought of spending an evening in a crowded ballroom, surrounded by the women she'd grown up with and their titled husbands set her nerves on edge. She hadn't spoken a word to any of them in years–not since she was seventeen they'd all begun to trade rumors that she was pregnant by the stable boy. And though that feels like a lifetime ago, even now, she can hear their giggles and she can feel her mother's eyes burning into her–and she's not sure she's ready to face them.

But she found herself shaking her head–somehow not going seemed worse.

Robin nodded and once more assured her that she could change her mind, and she'd smiled faintly.

"It occurs to me," he'd begun, leaning back in his chair as a grin edged onto his lips. "You'll need something new to wear." Her eyebrow arched as she considered the contents of her wardrobe–morning dresses and plain evening gowns suitable for dinners at Sherwood, a few favorite pieces from her youth, and of course, her second wedding dress–a dress which her mother practically designed. But none of them seemed appropriate–and being _inappropriate_ was something she could no longer afford. "I hope it's not too forward–and I'd have asked, but when I was in town things just fell into place–but, I schedule a fitting for you."

"A fitting…"

"A dress fitting," he clarified.

Regina's eyes rolled. "I understand."

"Mrs. Lucas will be by with some fabrics later tomorrow morning."

Her faint smile returned–that time a little brighter. It surprised her. "Fabrics…"

Robin nodded. "You seem pleased."

"I… don't know the last time I…" Her cheeks flush and she laughs a little and stops. He doesn't need the giddy details. "Thank you." Robin's smile grew self-satisfied as he folded his arms over his chest–and she felt something that might be excitement bubbling up inside of her…

"Mrs. Lucas outdid herself," Robin says, his eyes lingering down Regina's dress, then slowly sliding to Belle. "Can you… give us a few minutes?" Regina watches as Belle nods, quickly curtseying before scurrying out of the room; and when Regina's eyes shift to Robin, she finds his expression totally changed. "How are you feeling about tonight?"

Blinking, she feels her jaw tightening as her hand presses to her stomach. "Honestly?" She asks, as an uncomfortable laugh rises into her voice. "I feel like I could use a drink or… ten."

Stepping forward, Robin chuckles pulling a bottle of wine from behind his back. "I… had a sneaking suspicion you might say that, so I figured you might enjoy a little liquid courage before we head out of the evening." Her lips part and her eyebrows arch, and before she can respond, he's setting the bottle atop her vanity and driving a corkscrew into it. "I, uh, forgot the glasses… I was too busy trying to slip in and out of the wine cellar unnoticed."

"Who knew I'd married a thief?"

Robin laughs as he holds out the bottle to her. "I'm full of surprises."

A lopsided grin tugs onto Regina's lips as she looks at the opened bottle of wine. "And elegance."

"I do what I can," he shrugs. "Take a sip."

"I… shouldn't," she murmurs. "The last thing I need is to have too much to drink and make a fool of myself."

"I would never let that happen." He grins. "I know you don't want to go to this and you have good reason not to want to," he tells her, his voice sincere. "I want you to be comfortable, and if you need a drink or ten to do that, so be it." His grin warms. "It'll be our secret."

For a moment, she considers–then, taking a breath, she takes the bottle.

They suffer through the dinner, and it's easy enough to get lost in the crowd, even at the table.

Just by sitting next to her, he can feel her tension; and his jaw tightens each time one of the other ladies eyes linger on her for too long, then lean over to whisper something. It doesn't matter what their saying–and he assumes they're rehashing the same tired rumors, some true and others not. When dinner's over, everyone begins to depart the dining room. Leopold Blanchard makes an announcement and the men start to follow, and Robin's eyes shift to Regina, watching the way she shrinks back as the women start to go their own way and the younger set giddily march toward the ballroom; and he stops.

"Locksley," one of the others calls. "Aren't you coming?"

Robin looks to Regina, and shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"Go," she says, barely pushing out her voice. "You should go."

Shaking his head, he takes a breath. He's hardly interested in sitting around in a stuffy room, smoking cigars and pretending to be interested in whatever superficial topics the others bring up in an effort to impress and outdo each other. Reaching out, Robin takes Regina's hand and gives it a little tug. "I think I'm going to… skip this round."

The man blinks. "What? Are you going to hang back with your wife?"

"Precisely," Robin says easily, quickly looking back at Regina and offering her a quick wink. "It just so happens that my wife makes wonderful company." The man lingers for a moment, and his lips part as if he's about to say something; but he only shakes his head and follows on the heels of the rest. Robin's hand tightens around Regina's and his grin widens. "And it just so happens, I have plans for us."

"Plans?" She asks, her eyebrow arching quizzically and in a way he's come for find endearing.

"Yes," he says, giving her hand a tug as he leads her out of the dining room–and on the way, he grabs an unopened bottle of champagne.

Regina laughs as he pulls her down a dark, dimly lit corridor, around one corner and then another–and he feels his heart beating faster and faster. Of all the dull parties the Leopold and Eva Blanchard have hosted, this is the first he's actually enjoyed. On most occasions that he finds himself at the Blanchard estate, he has to come up with a creative way to duck out of play card games and smoking cigars, preferring to explore rather than keep his host's company.

"Do you have a destination in mind?"

"I do."

"Of course," she laughs. "Why wouldn't you be privy to all of the dark corners of someone else's home?"

He grins as he reaches for the handle of one of the French doors, and turns to watch as her eyebrow jut up. "This is… one of my favorite spots in this house."

"Only you…"

Robin laughs as he steps out onto the balcony and he leans back against the brick parapet. "This time," he begins, holding up two flutes. "I grabbed some glasses this time."

"You mean you stole glasses…"

"Semantics," he shrugs, as he sets them onto the ledge and holds out his hand. His heart flutters as a faint smile tugs onto her lips, and he's glad to see it. She takes a tentative step forward and he hears her breath catch as she steps out onto the balcony, her dark eyes widening as she takes in the maze of hedges that wind around the garden. "Honestly," he begins as he pulls a corkscrew from his pocket and jabs it into the cork. "Is it as terrible as you thought?"

"No…" His eyebrows arch as he looks up from the bottle. "The wine helped, I think."

"Good. I'm glad," he says as the cork comes loose with a _pop_. "I have to admit this is the most fun I've ever had at a Blanchard soiree."

"That's… not exactly a ringing endorsement."

He laughs as he pours the champagne. "Well, you see, they usually try to pair me off with someone–a visiting cousin or the daughter of one of Eva's friends who enjoys collecting buttons or… reading about horticulture." He watches as she shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she sighs–a reaction he's come to find endearing–and he extends a glass to her as his smile warms. "But tonight I sat with a beautiful woman who… mocked all of the other guests with me and…"

"That was inappropriate."

"That was fun."

"That was… all that wine talking."

A grin twists onto his lips. "Of course it was."

She takes a long sip of the champagne and leans against the ledge. "The woman across from us at dinner… the one with the wavy red hair?"

His eyes narrow as he tries remember. "Ah, yes. With the feathery thing on her…" he waves his hand over the top of his head as his brow furrows.

"Yes," she murmurs, a soft smile tugging on her lips. "Once upon a time, she was my best friend…" Her voice fails off and her face falls. "And the last time I spoke to her was at a birthday party a lot like this one." Regina sighs and he tops off her glass, not knowing what else to do. "My engagement to that Bavarian prince had just been announced and I'd spent a month visiting and…" she sighs, "when I was abroad, I realized I was pregnant and by the time I returned I was starting to show, but… I… I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I just kept it to myself. I hadn't even told Daniel, I just… didn't know how." She pauses and looks over at him, taking a sip of the champagne. "I walked into the room and, she and a couple of other girls had their heads together, giggling and whispering and… they just stopped when I came in."

He starts to say something–what, he's not sure–but her laugh rings out unexpectedly.

"They were so obvious and they tried to pretend like they hadn't been talking about me–like they hadn't been talking about how I was _tainted_ and how I'd let the stable boy _do things_ to me." She takes another sip of the champagne and turns her head to face him, and he chooses not to tell her that he heard those very rumors–varying in sordid details. "Tonight she had escargot stuck in her teeth and I didn't tell her."

"That most certainly evens things up."

"I'd like to think so."

Chuckling softly, he adds a little more to her glass. "Can… confess something to you?"

"Oh, I…" He watches as she swallows, almost as if bracing herself or perhaps just struggling to pay attention. "I suppose so."

He takes a breath, suddenly a little nervous. "I had such a crush on you back then."

"What?" Her eyes widen and she blinks a few times. "You… what?"

"I had a crush on you."

"No," she insists. "That's… no." She considers for a moment, then shakes her head. "No."

"I did."

"You couldn't have! We didn't even know each other."

"You didn't know me," he says. "But I knew you… and I also knew that you only had eyes for one."

"Daniel…" she says, unnecessarily. "You knew about that?"

Robin grins. "You were in love with him." He pauses, remembering a night he'd gone for a walk, not realizing he'd crossed onto the Mills' property. There was a candle in the window, and he'd wondered if someone had forgotten to blow it out and he worried the stable would catch on fire–and then, when he got to the window, he saw Regina laying on a bale of hay, wrapped in the arms of stable boy, kissing as hands explored. "It was obvious."

"Oh…" Her cheeks flush and a grin twists onto his lips. "I'm… sorry?" She says, her nose scrunching. "No, that's not right, I…" Robin laughs out and takes her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. "You… you really had a crush on me?"

Robin nods as she continues to struggle with her words. "You were a safe crush, honestly," he says. "You were unavailable and that kept me from having to… do anything about it." He sighs. "I was a terrible flirt. It's a wonder Marian ever fell for me."

Regina brightens. "Tell me about her."

"About Marian?"

"Yes," she says with a nod. "You know all about Daniel, so it's only fair."

"You have a strange sense of fairness," he says, his thoughts suddenly drifting as he tries to settle on a memory to share, and he finds it difficult to settle on just one.

"We met the summer after you'd left," he says, pulling himself into the present. "My friends and I were… drunk and bored one night and we decided that we'd like to go hunting." He grimaces at the fuzzy memory. "Except none of us were at home; therefore, none of us had access to… the necessary things."

"Like guns-n-horses…"

"Precisely," he says, a chuckle rising into his voice as she slurs the words together. "It was also well-past midnight." He pauses, remembering how they'd stumbled their way through the Fitzwater's ballroom, loudly discussing their intentions. "Well, we made it halfway to the barn…"

"For the horses…"

"Yes," he says, nodding as a grin pulls onto his lips. "And then, there was Marian… telling us all off."

"And you liked her."

"And I liked her," he nods. "She… didn't quite like me, though," he tells her. "Not then."

"But you won her over, eventually."

"Eventually, yes."

"How?"

"How did I win her over?" He asks, watching the way a smile tugs onto her lips as she nods. "Well, I was… persistent, I suppose, and… well… I think she liked me better when I was sobered up and not trying to steal her father's horses."

Regina giggles–and it's an almost musical sound. "Well, we have something in common," she tells him–and then, she supplies no more information. He chuckles softly as he tips his head and narrows his eyes, wondering if she plans on sharing–and then, he watches as it registers that had hasn't completed the thought and her eyes widen. "We both met our first loves in the stables… trying to steal a horse."

"You met Daniel in the stables?"

"Yes," she says, laughing too loudly at the memory. "I was eight and running away from home. His father was in-charge of the stables," she tells him, her voice suddenly serious and matter-of-fact. "He was brought in to help clean the horses' hooves and put on new shoes."

She giggles at the last line–and her hand falls to his arm, flooding his chest with warm flutters. "So, you knew him throughout your childhood?"

"I did." She blinks a couple of times, then looks up at him. "He convinced me not to run away that day, and I'm glad that I didn't." A coy grin twists onto her lips as her fingers press into his arm. "Otherwise, I might not have had the chance to run away with him years later."

That's a sweet notion, he finds himself thinking–and it makes it seem like they were destined to be together–and he knows that's likely a bittersweet thought for her, but one she hangs onto desperately, especially on nights like this one.

"Would you like to dance?" He asks, pouring more champagne into her glass.

Her eyes widen as he pours, but she makes no attempt to pull the glass away, allowing him to fill it nearly to the brim. "You're trying to get me drunk."

"You're already drunk."

"I… can't go in there like this," she says, her voice suddenly so vulnerable as her she looks over at him with wide eyes.

"I won't let them see you stumble," he tells, quite sincerely. "Besides, I am a _terrible_ dancer, so if we makes fools of ourselves, I'll be the one who rightfully gets ridiculed."

She nods and straightens herself up–and he can see her starting to sway. She takes a wobbly step toward him and he catches her–and for a moment, they're standing there, chest to chest. His hands are low on her back and she's looking up at him, almost expectantly. He can feel her breath on his chin and he watches her eyes shift to his lips. It takes everything in him not to lean in, not to let her kiss him–because as much as he wants to, he's not sure she truly wants to, and he doesn't want that first kiss to happen like this.

"Come on," he says, gently pushing her away, keeping her at an arm's length. "I can't wait to show you just how bad I am at this…"

When they reach the ballroom, his hand finds her waist–and just as promised, he guides her, not allowing her to stumble as they enter. He grabs a flute of champagne for her, then one for himself and she watches a he downs it. Her eyebrow arches and she hears herself giggling–she doesn't remember the last time she had this much to drink, or if she's _ever_ had this much to drink. But nonetheless, her shoulders are relaxed and her heart feels light–and she's having a surprisingly good time.

Her lip catches as she watches who she can only guess is Mary-Margaret Blanchard and her friends, dancing a quick-stepped reel. The girls are all laughs and smiles as they dance, switching partners every fews steps–and when her eyes slide to Robin, his brow is furrowed as he focuses on their feet.

"We don't have to dance…"

"I want to," he insists in a hesitant voice that has a grin tugging up at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I want to dance with _you_ , not them…"

"There's no rules that says we have to be on the dance floor to dance," she says. "And if there is a rule about it, I don't care about that rule… if its even is against the rules." Her brow furrows, not quite sure she's making sense. "Besides," she tells him. "I… don't really care about those rules."

Robin blinks a couple of times and he laughs out. "You're drunk."

"I know."

"I like this side of you–the carefree side."

She grins. "I probably won't remember that tomorrow, but thank you." He takes a deep breath, and for a moment, he looks truly nervous as he steps around her and offers her his hand. She takes his hand his hand folds around her, their fingers entwining as his other hand steadies on her hip. "Do you want me to lead?"

"You're drunk…"

"But you can't dance…"

"So, what's worse than? A drunk lead or one who doesn't quite know how?" She laughs, considering it as they stand still at a stalemate. "If you weren't drunk, I might ask to stand on your feet."

"Are you really that bad?"

Robin shrugs. "You be the judge of that," he tells her, taking a step forward and pushing her back–and promptly stepping on her toes. She gasps a little too loudly and stifles the urge to yelp as Robin grimaces. "That didn't take long…"

Regina laughs out as she steps forward and Robin hangs his head, feigning embarrassment. Her head dips forward, resting against his–and she's well aware that they're not moving to slow to be dancing to the music. But his arm feels good around her waist, and it's nice to be held this closely. He doesn't pull away from her as she guides them around their little patch of makeshift dance floor, and she's vaguely aware that they're being watched. She swallows hard and she wants to kiss him, but she's not sure that he wants the same–after all, when she tried it on the balcony, he'd pushed her away. So, instead, she closes her eyes and pretends…

She's not sure how long they spend that way–swaying and sliding in that little space just to the side of the dance floor–but when she feels herself struggling against a yawn. She blinks up at him, her head suddenly less dizzy than she remembers it and the warmth that had settled at her core has faded.

"Do you want to go up?" He asks, his voice no more than a hushed whisper.

She nods and her stomach lurches–she'd nearly forgotten.

When they'd arrived, they'd been shown to their rooms–or what they'd assumed would be rooms. Belle and John–Robin's valet–followed close behind, listening to instructions about when Robin and Regina would be expected at dinner, what would be served and when they should turn down the bed for the night.

She's turned sharply at the last bit–the word bed in the singular and she'd felt Robin's eyes slide to her as her body stiffened. They'd been married for a handful of months now, and they'd yet to share a bed. She doesn't like to think about their wedding night–how she'd been dressed and put on display for him–and thought of laying beside a man who wasn't Daniel still feels wrong to her.

"I promise," he begins, taking her by the hand. "I will be a perfect gentleman."

She offers a reluctant smile and she nods, as they leave the ballroom–and as they pass a group of women she'd once known so well, Robin's arm slides around her, hugging her into his side in a way that can't appear to be anything other than affectionate.

Her smile pulls tighter onto her lips as he guides her toward the stairs, asking one of the footmen inform Belle and John that they're going up for the night. They take the stairs slowly and her stomach churns–an odd mix of nervousness and guilt, and having had too much to drink.

Belle and John are there waiting, and John leads Robin into the small, adjoining dressing room to change as Belle helps her out of her dress. She lets out a shaky breath as she pulls off the light gold gloves–which matched her skirt so perfectly and still makes her smile faintly–and she wonders why she feels this uncomfortable.

She likes Robin–more than she ever thought she would when their marriage was arranged–and she wonders if that's why she's so bothered. Before she can consider it any more, Belle rasps the back of her hand against the door, signaling to Robin and John that she's decent enough to be seen, and Robin steps out and offers an awkward smile. Belle and John leave them and her bottom lip catches between her teeth as her stomach flutters.

"I can sleep in the chair."

"No," she hears herself say. "That's… not going to be comfortable."

Robin shrugs. "I'll manage."

For a moment, she doesn't say anything, hesitating as her eyes shift between Robin and the bed–and then slowly sink closed. "I wouldn't sleep if you were… scrunched up on that tiny little thing and I had this enormous bed all to myself."

"You're sure?"

Opening her eyes, she holds her breath and nods. "Of course."

"No you're not."

"Maybe not, but I am sure that I wouldn't sleep a wink knowing that you were… so uncomfortable."

Robin laughs and a self-satisfied smile pulls onto his lips. "You like me."

"Don't make a big deal of this…"

"You like me!"

"I could always change my mind," she says, rounding the bed and sliding in under the covers, not wanting to admit that she _does_ like him and perhaps, she _could_ even love him. He pulls back the covers on the opposite side and she feels her chest constrict as a wave of guilt washes over her, but nonetheless a tight smile tugs onto her lips. "Stay over there," she says as she lays back against the pillows.

"I might say the same to you."

Her eyes roll and she feels stiff–and as he blows out the candles on the nightstand, her cheeks flush as she thinks about what it would have been like to kiss him.


	6. Chapter 6

_His fingers thread through her silky hair and his palm skims over her jaw, pressing lightly as he draws her deeper into the kiss. She's like an insatiable craving and the more of her he has, the more of her he wants. She moans into the kiss as her knee draws up to accommodate him and his hand wastes no time dipping beneath the hem of her night gown, pressing into her thigh.  
_

 _Her head falls back as his fingers slide pushing up her inner thigh, ghosting up toward the warmth between her legs and hovering, making her whimper as she pleads for his touch. His lips slide down her neck and he smiles against her, feeling her breath growing ragged and impatient–she wants this as much as he does._

 _"Please, Robin," she murmurs in a husky voice. "I want–" Her voice halts and her breath catches as two fingers slip into her, his thumb pressing at her clit. "Oh, god…" His lips suck harder at her skin, dropping into the crook of her neck as her back arches and she lets out a little gasp. "More…"_

 _"You're enjoying this," he says as his lips drag across her throat._

 _She doesn't respond with words; instead, she lets out a breathy sigh as her hips begin to move in rhythm with his his thrusting fingers. A coy grin streches onto his lips as his hand slides up between them, his fingers rolling her nipple as her back arches and another–much louder–whimper escapes her._

 _He can feel his own arousal growing–aching and throbbing–and he imagines how good it'll feel to slip into her–and even just imagining it makes his cock twitch with eager anticipation. He thinks of how good that first thrust will feel–how he'll go slowly, making her writhe beneath him as he teases her, and how he'll want to savor the feeling of her velvety warmth enveloping him._

 _His thumb rubs harder at her clit and he squeezes her breast–grinning with satisfaction as her back arches, pushing his fingers deeper, curling inside of her as her hips move faster as she gasps as he brings her right up to the edge, and then pulls away._

 _Her eyes are wild as he looks up at her–full of lustful desire. He pulls back, just enough for her to pull off her nightgown, dropping it to the floor as a grin twists onto her lips. His eyes linger down her body, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, admiring the sheen of sweat that glazes her soft skin, and he can't wait to have her– to finally have her._

His eyes fly open as a feathery breeze sweeps across the room, and he realizes that it's morning–and worse than that, the wonderfully tantalizing, sensuous dreamworld he'd been visiting was only that, a dream.

Swallowing hard, he takes a long breath and tries to collect himself and pull himself from the fading memory of the dream, and he as he looks down at the evidence of his arousal tenting out in front of him. His hand dips underneath the blanket and he gives it a few slow strokes, sighing as he resolves to get out of bed and relieve himself. Reaching for the corner of the blanket he starts to pull it back, but no sooner than he does, another little gust of wind sweeps into the room–and in an all too ironic turn of events, Regina rolls toward him.

His eyes press closed and he pushes his head back into the goose down pillow, wishing he'd moved even a half second sooner–because if he had, she wouldn't be cuddle into his side in the exact same position she'd been in when that wonderful dream had started. He groans as she pushes closer and he turns his head on the pillow, looking away from her and focusing on the dwindling fire, watching as the embers glow.

Taking a breath, he tries to focus on them–on anything other than her, really–but it's impossible. Instead, all he can think of his how warms he feels beside him–and he remembers of soft her skin felt in that dream. He thinks about the night before and how loud her laugh was as he topped off her champagne and how they'd giggled as they'd danced, off to the side in their own little world in the ballroom. He remembering how light his heart felt–how deeply wished that the little moment between them was real, that it wasn't the result to too much champagne–and he feels a little pang of guilt as he remembers his gentlemanly promises that he'd behave himself the night before.

Exhaling a breath, he tries to will away his arousal–but Regina shifts closer to him and he feels a little twitch between his legs. Her cheek is just barely touching his shoulder and her arms are drawn up, serving as the only barrier that keeps them from being chest-to-chest. He blinks a couple of times before looking over at her, a small smile tugging onto his lips as he take her in–open mouth with her cheek smushed against the pillow they now share. And as adorable as she looks, so deep in her sleep, her arms are drawn up…with the lacing on the front of her nightgown loosened from her movements in the night, pushing her cleavage up in a way that leaves just enough to his imagination. He blinks as he struggles to look away, his eyes lingering for longer than acceptable.

A little pang of guilt forces his eyes away from her, and he tries to shift himself. He moves carefully, not wanting to wake her and certainly not wanting her to see him in the state he's in–but just as he thinks he might be roll away unnoticed, she pushes herself closer. This time her hand slides over his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps on skin and his body tenses as he cheek presses into his shoulder. Hissing loudly, his head falls back in resignation and he stares up at the ceiling, trying in vain to disappear, or at the very least focus on something that isn't her the warmth of her body against his or the effect she's unknowingly having on him.

Lifting his head, he scowls at his aching erection, unable to stop himself from thinking about how in his dream her hand a slid beneath the blanket wrapped around it, slowly sliding up and down the length of him as her lips met his–and he can almost still feel it.

Almost, but not quite.

He takes long and deep breathes–and just when he thinks he might be getting somewhere, Regina starts to stir. Instinctively, his eyes press shut and he burrows back into the pillow, quickly bunching the blanket at his waist as he turns his face away from her and pretends to sleep.

Her hand drags slowly across his chest as she lifts her head–and then suddenly, he hears a gasp and quickly, she pulls away. He can feel her shift on the bed and he hears her swallow as a hushed Oh, God, Regina. What did you do? fills the otherwise silent room.

Opening his eyes, he listens to her take long, deep and almost shaky breaths–and finally, the ache begins to dull. He rolls over onto his side, careful to maintain the distance between them.

"Good morning," she murmurs in a hoarse voice that at any other time of day would have given him away. "Did you… sleep well?"

Regina's breath catches at the realization that he's away and her eyes widen a little. "I… what?"

"How did you sleep?" He asks as a grin pulls onto his lips.

"Oh, I… It was fine," she murmurs. "It got a little… cold."

He swallows hard. "Yes, it… was."

"My head is throbbing," she says as she looks away from him. "How much did I drink last night?"

"I lost track," he admits. "We'll have Belle mix up a powder for you before we leave and," he takes a breath. "Close your eyes and try to go back to sleep. The sun's barely up and we have a few hours before breakfast."

Regina nods and her eyes close, and a little grin pulls onto his lips as he watches her fade back into sleep, and he can't help but think that she truly is beautiful–and how truly lucky he is to have her, in whatever way she'll allow.

The whole way back to Sherwood is torture.

The sun is too high and too bright, and the horses hooves find every imperfection in the road, earning a scowl every time the carriage rattles. She closes her eyes to block out the sun, and every time she does, she sees Robin–laughing and smiling and pouring her champagne–and it makes her feel vaguely nauseous, not because she doesn't like him–that would be easier–but because she does.

Sighing, she opens her eyes, squinting out the window as Sherwood comes into view–and for the first time since coming to live at the estate, she's glad to see it.

The staff greets them upon their return, and Regina lets out a little sigh of relief when the heavy doors are closed behind them, and the world is suddenly much darker and more soothing. Footmen rush around them, taking their bags and carrying them upstairs to their rooms–and as she takes a breath and watches as Belle follows them up the stairs, and it occurs to her that dinner is hours away and that means there are hours before she has to interact with anyone. And that is a terribly relieving thought.

"I… think I'm going to go up and see Henry, then take a little nap," she says, in a loud whisper, her temples throbbing as a faint wave of nausea washes over her. "And the next time we have to go somewhere, remind me to never drink again."

"Noted," he replies, a soft chuckle in his voice that she finds both vexing and endearing. "I'll make sure the maids know not to disturb–"

"Well, well," comes Richard's booming voice that makes her cringe. "Look who's finally back." Regina's eyes shift from her husband to her father-in-law and another wave of nausea hits her. "I expect you enjoyed your night, and your… quarters?" A grin twists onto his lips. "The two of you, apparently, out on quite a show?"

She blinks at the last bit, wondering how he could know something like that–but Robin's voice pulls her away from her thoughts.

"You arranged that? You arranged for us to share a room?"

"Someone had to–and given how drunk your wife was before we even left, it seemed like the perfect opportunity," he replies in a curt tone as his eyes shift to Regina. "If someone is unwilling to fulfil her marital obligations, then perhaps a little nudge is–"

"My wife has no marital obligations," Robin cuts in.

"All women have a marital obligations," Richard interjects, his voice rising over his son's and sending a sharp pain shooting into her temples as she shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "They have an obligation to provides sons to their husbands, to secure their family's estate."

At that, Robin scoffs, and she feels a little dizzy as his hand bushes against the small of her back, steadying her. "Then, she's fulfilled that simply by marrying me. She's given me a son–she's given me Henry." Regina's eyes shift between them–her chest tightening at the inference that he considers Henry his son and the way his father's eyes widen with indignation. She's not entirely sure how she feels about that–about Robin's claim to Daniel's son–but she knows that his heart is in the right place. "Legally, upon our marriage, her son became mine."

Richard's face reddens and his jaw tightens. "That boy is the bastard son of a stable boy," Richard yells. "And I told him as much this morning when he broke my Grecian vase!"

Regina's eyes instantly fall to Richard as heat rises up at the back of her neck. "You… said what?" She asks, stepping forward as her voice rises an octave. "What did you call him?"

"A bastard," Richard says flatly. "I called him exactly what he–"

"Stop," Regina cuts in. "Stop right there." She takes another step forward. "You have _no right_ to speak to my son in that way."

"I'll speak to him in whatever way I please. This is my–"

"Your house?" Regina asks, her eyebrows jutting up as a sardonic laugh rises into her voice. "Who do you think you're talking to? I grew up only a few miles away. I know _exactly_ how this estate became yours and how your family won their fortune." Her eyes trail up and down him and she shakes her head. "You're not really one who should be throwing the word _bastard_ around so carelessly."

She feels a little surge of triumph as his eyes widen. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do," she says, her voice dropping to her normal tone. "I do know what I'm talking about and don't think I won't remind anyone who will listen if you _ever_ speak to my son in that way again." She shakes her head. "My son wasn't a bastard. Yes, his father was a stable boy and yes, we were young and unwed when we had him; but nevertheless, my son will grow up knowing that he was always loved and always wanted, and he'll grow up knowing that his father– _the stable boy_ –was a good and decent man." She scoffs a little was her eyes look up and down the length of him. "Unlike some…"

She feels dizzy as she turns toward the stairs, but her thoughts are no longer focused on how terrible she feels or how desperately she wants to lay down; instead, she's focused on finding Henry–and as she goes, she can hear Robin's voice rising over his father's as he demands to know what the hell is wrong with him and how he can be so cruel to a child. And somehow, that makes her smile–and it makes her tiny victory feel just a little sweeter.

Taking a breath, she makes long strides toward the nursery, but just as she reaches for the handle, Belle appears in the hallway, her blue eyes wide with worry as she motions for her to come. Regina's brow furrow as she follows her maid to her own rooms, and when Belle opens the door, her eyes fall to Henry who's curled into a ball on her bed, crying. Guilt stabs at her core as she goes to him, chastising herself for having gone to the Blanchard's ball the night before, for allowing herself to drink so much that she had to sleep in, for staying the night when she should have been there–there with her son and able to run interference between him and Robin's father.

"Oh, Henry," she murmurs as she sinks down onto the bed and pulls him into her arms. "Oh, baby.." Henry hiccups as he he turns, allowing her to hold him as he cuddles into her–and she lets out a shallow breath as she rubs his back. "I know," she murmurs as she rocks him. "I know and I'm sorry…"

"H-he said…"

"I know, baby. I know."

"He said that daddy…" Henry doesn't finish the sentence, but he looks up at her, batting the back of his little hands over his tear-stained cheeks. "He was so mean… and loud… and I didn't break the vase, Mama. I swear I didn't break it! I didn't break his vase and it was an accident, Mama."

"The vase doesn't matter," she murmurs, combing her fingers through the front of her hair. "Shhh," she coos gently, pulling him against her and letting him cry as her chest tightens. "It's okay. You're okay…"

"But…I… and the…"

"It's okay," she says again as he hiccups, barely getting out his words as she presses a kiss to his hair and another wave of guilt crashes into her for leaving him. Her eyes sink closed and she takes a breath, continuing to rock him as he continues to babble, remembering how common this once was not so long ago. After Daniel's death, he was terrified of losing her and even the briefest of separations–her going into another room or going outside for just a minute to check the post–had him sobbing with fear that she was gone forever. It wasn't until recently that that had stopped, and aside from her wedding night and the previous night, she hadn't spent more than a couple of hours away from him–and she chides herself for agreeing to go to a party that put him in a vulnerable position that had left him in tears. "I've got you. You're okay now."

"He was so mean…."

"I know, baby. I know and I'm sorry," she tells him, not knowing what else to say.

His teary hazel eyes turn up and he cuddles against her. "I miss daddy," he says in barely audible voice as she pulls him against her chest, hugging him a little tighter as her eyes sink closed and she quietly admits that she misses him too–and once again, guilt stabs at her core.

Robin takes a breath as he rasps his knuckles against the back of her door before slowly pushing it open and peeking inside. He smiles softly his eyes fall on her, lying back against the pillows with Henry curled up in her lap. He loves this side of her–the maternal side that reminds him of her humanity–and he almost hates to interrupt.

But she looks over at him and on the opposite side of the door, Roland squirms nervously. "I… I'm sorry to bother you," he begins in a hushed voice. "But I wanted to check on the two of you, and… apologize profusely to you both for my father's…" He pauses for a moment and sighs. "Well, his personality."

"That's not necessary," Regina says, as a small smile edges onto her lips. "Nor is it your fault."

"Not entirely, but…"

"It's mine," Roland says in a small voice, stepping into the room and frowning as his little jaw starts to tremble. "I broke it. Not Henry"

"The vase?" Regina asks as Roland nods.

"We played tag and I bumped it," he tells her in a small voice. "I didn't mean for it to fall. It just… did."

A tight grin pulls onto Robin's lip as he pushes the door closed and sweeps his son up into his arms. "Roland was too upset to say anything at the time," Robin adds. "And he feels absolutely terrible about it."

"I'm sorry," Roland says in a sheepish voice, his eyes falling from Regina to Henry. "I didn't mean for Henry to get blamed."

Robin watches as a grin twists onto Regina's lips and Henry lifts his head. "It's okay, Roland," Regina says as Henry bats at this eyes as he lifts his head. "We understand that it was an accident."

"Yeah," Roland agrees with a vigorous nod. "It was!"

"We brought a peace offering," Robin says, nudging Roland who leans out of his arms, grinning broadly as he looks to Henry and hands him a cloth tied with a scrap of ribbon. "It's… not much, but…" Henry sits up and takes it, slowly giving the ribbon a little tug. Regina's eyes shift momentarily to his, questioning the gift–and he finds his heart fluttering as Henry unwraps the fabric wrapping. "A dragon!" He exclaims, perking up as the cloth falls to his lap. "Mama, it's a dragon!"

"It is, indeed," Robin says. "You should give his tail a little tug."

Henry's eyes widen as he looks to him–and Robin can't help the smile that stretches across his lips as Henry tugs the dragon's tail, making its wing's flap. Henry gasps and then giggles as he tugs the tail again, looking excitedly to Regina and then to Robin. "Thank you!"

"Well, it's unfinished, but…" He pauses. "But I'm not sure he needs to be painted red to get the job done, and from what I hear from Roland, you built quite a castle today from the blocks in the nursery and a castle like that shouldn't have to wait for a protector."

"We did," Henry nods, his eyes again sliding to his mother. "It's one of the best ones I've made."

"I'll have to give it a look then," Regina says as she leans in and kisses his forehead. "Do you think you're up to going and playing with Roland?" Robin watches as Henry hesitates, likely still upset from the events of that morning. "Maybe you two couple play in here?"

"We could play with the dragon," Roland suggests, his little voice eager as he gestures to Regina's dressing table. "Over there."

For a moment, Henry chews at his lip, once more looking to his mother. Regina nods and Henry smiles, and a moment later, she's lifting him off of her lap to go and play.

Robin hesitates for a moment, not really knowing his boundaries and wondering if he's already crossed them by being in her bedroom. He takes a breath, remembering his purpose–and when she looks from the boys to him, he offers her a soft grin.

"I am sorry about what happened this morning."

"It's not your fault."

He nods. "That may be, but I'm afraid I inadvertently set it into motion." He watches as her brow creases, her head tipping to the side. "This morning the lawyer dropped in to give me the finalized version of my updated last will and testament." He pauses. "When you first came here, we discussed it."

"I remember," she murmurs in a tone he can't quite place.

"Well, you see, as you might imagine, my father wasn't pleased with some of the changes."

"You didn't tell him?"

"I didn't see a point," he returns, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a bundle of papers. "I've never been one to seek his approval, and I'm a man of my word. I made a promise to you–and one to Henry–and my father's opinion wasn't going to sway me, so there was no point in mentioning it."

Regina nods. "Oh."

Taking a breath, he hands her the papers. "Have a look," he says, watching as she unfolds the papers and reads–reading that once he turns thirty, the estate and fortune will be entirely his, that he means for the boys to split it all evenly, and that in the event of his untimely death, he means for her to be named executor of the estate until Henry and Roland turn twenty-one years old, respectively. "So, you see," he begins as he hears her breath hitch in her throat. "This is what angered my father this morning, not the vase–and so, in a way, it's my fault that Henry–"

"No," she cuts in as she looks up at him. "It's not your fault that your father took his anger out on my son." She shakes her head. "And it's not fair for you to shoulder the blame."

She takes a breath and slowly exhales it, looking back to the will–and watches as a tear falls down her cheek. He takes a half of a step forward, not really sure what to do or what to say or what she'd accept from him, but he finds himself compelled to comfort her, if it's comfort that she even needs.

"You know," she begins, batting the back of her hand over her cheek as she looks up at him. "This is… so kind of you and I…"

"It's nothing…"

"It's not nothing, Robin," she cuts in. "And I know that I've done a poor job showing my gratitude for… everything you've done for me and for Henry, but I do want you to know that I'm grateful." She pauses for a moment, her eyes shifting past him and falling to her son. "When you referred to Henry as yours I wasn't…" She looks back to him. "I wasn't sure how I felt about that, about a man who isn't Daniel claiming Henry as his son, but Henry is a very lucky boy."

"He is."

"He's lucky because of you."

A small smile edges onto Robin's lips. "Not me."

"Don't be modest," she interjects. "Most men wouldn't… do this," she says, holding up the will and sighing. "Henry is lucky to have someone who cares for him and loves him enough to…" Her voice falters, catching in her throat as she shakes her head and sucks in a breath. "You're giving him something that… that I never could, and I am… indebted to you for it."

"You're not indebted to me," he says as he sits down on the edge of the bed, tentatively reaching for her hand. "And neither is your son." He grins a little and squeezes her hand. "If anything, I owe you."

She laughs as her eyes widen. "How do you figure?"

"Well, you keep me sane."

"Do I?"

He nods and grins. "You do. It's nice to have an ally."

"You've called me that before."

"I have–and I meant it then and I mean it now. I enjoy having you and Henry here, how nice it's been to have someone to talk to and attend social engagement with and…" he sighs and a chuckle rises into his voice, "…have someone around who's willing to tell off my father."

"Oh," she breathes out, her cheeks flushing in a way that reminds him of the previous night. "I hope I didn't offend you when I…"

"Not at all," he cuts in. "It's been a long time coming."

She nods–and for a brief moment, he catches her eyes falling to his lips and for a fraction of a moment, he thinks she might feel something for him, that maybe she even feels what he does. Taking a breath, he leans in a little and he looks to her, waiting for her eyes to meet his and when they do, he smiles.

But before she can react, before either of them can do anything, something knocks over on her dressing table, diverting their attention as both boys gasp loudly. Regina laughs out as Roland blinks at them with wide eyes and coughs–and a little cloud of Regina's face powder hovers above them.

"I'll… call for Celeste and see if she can put them in a bath," he says, sighing as he looks at the boys who are covered in her powder. "I know it's early, but…"

"I can do it," Regina says. "I think having to bathe both of them at a time that's not bath time on a day that's not bath day might send her over the edge." She grins as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. "And I don't mind." He feels himself nod as she gets up from the bed and holds her hands out to their sons–and he can't help but smile as he finds himself in absolute awe of her.


	7. Chapter 7

"I think I want to go riding this morning," Regina murmurs, almost absently as she stares as herself in the long, oval-shaped mirror in the corner of her bedroom, lost in memories of a life that seems to belong to someone else. "Maybe I'll see if Henry wants to come along."

Belle turns and her lip catches between her teeth, and from the corner of her eye, Regina can't help but notice how suddenly she looks so unsure of herself. Regina blinks a couple of times as she watches her through the mirror, watching as she holds a lavender dress with lace trimming–and she finds herself thinking she's not sure that she'll ever be used to this sort of arrangement. It's nothing personal–if anything, she's found the perfect ladies' maid in Belle French–but it's simply that she'd never envisioned a life for herself that included another person lacing her up into too-tight corsets and fastening her into dresses for tea; she never thought she'd spend her days picking out complimentary jewelry and changing for dinner at the sound of a gong. It all seemed like part of a past life that didn't belong to her–a dream that every morning she expected to wake from, but of course, she never did.

Growing up, there'd been a maid who dressed her, and for most of her youth she was treated much more like a China doll than a child. Her hair was always perfectly curled and held together with a ribbon, her dresses always crisp and pristine, and her mother revealed in the compliments about how well-mannered she was, how beautiful she was, how quiet she was. It was all a part of the facade, the illusion that she rather unwillingly helped her mother to keep–after all, her growing up, she quickly learned the important societal lesson that appearance were more important than no one, not even her father, seemed to notice how she was screaming on the inside.

She'd thought she finally escaped it all when she ran away with Daniel. Everything had been such an adjustment and she struggled more than she cared to admit, but he'd been patient with her, reminding her that it would get easier, that she'd settle into her own before she even realized–and he'd promised to help her through it. And despite how hard it was to start a new life that was so completely different from everything she'd known, it'd felt so good and it'd been so freeing. For the first time in her life, she was able to choose things for herself–and though the choices were scarce, they were still hers, nonetheless.

"No one told you," Belle says in a tentative voice as she turns back to the armoire, carefully hanging the dress. "Celeste has planned a picnic for the boys… a walk and I suppose it'd be a late breakfast by the old church yard." She offers a regretful little smile. "They've already left."

"But it's… it's barely eight…"

"She wanted to make a day of it." Belle tells her softly. "Henry seemed excite."

"Oh, I'm sure that he was," Regina says, sighing her her hands smooth over her silky nightdress. " just… wish someone had to told me."

"I'm sorry," Belle is quick to say. "I should have thought to…"

"Not you," Regina cuts in, doing her best to offer a reassuring smile. "It wasn't your place."

Belle nods, and her stomach tightens as she tells herself that this isn't the sort of thing she should get upset about–reminding herself that Henry will likely have a good time and return with all sorts of wildly exaggerated stories to tell, and it's been so long since he's had any sort of adventure outside of the walls of Sherwood. But there's something–something that nags at her, something the refuses to sit right, something that feels like it's slowly slipping away.

"They can't have gotten far," Belle tells her in a tentative voice. "I could send…"

"No," Regina cuts in, turning away from the mirror and putting on a smile. "It's fine. It's… absolutely fine."

"I really did think that someone would have…"

"Told me?" Regina asks, her eyebrow arching at her maid. "There are very few people in this world who believe my consent is worth anything." Her smile tightens as her eyes fall away from Belle's. "And the nanny is not amongst them."

Belle only nods as she takes a step back, turning away from her as she reaches into the armoire and Regina finds herself drawing in a long, shaky breath–she doesn't want today to be one of those days.

She pushes away her thoughts and forces herself to think of her own morning plans–thinking of how good it'll feel to get away for a little while, to be alone and surrounded by the earthy scent of forest that had always been such a comfort to her. Perhaps, she thinks, she might find herself riding along the edge of the old church yard. Pushing herself forward, she reaches into the armoire and her fingers touch a white camisette that she hasn't worn before–and she sighs, thinking of how uncomfortable it'll be to ride side-saddle in a long and confining skirt.

"I suppose your mother is also one of that number?"

Regina's eyes widen and her head turns sharply at the mention of her mother. "I'm sorry?"

"Your mother is here for breakfast." Again, Belle's bottom lip catches between her teeth and she grimaces slightly. "Again, I just… assumed that you knew."

Her jaw tightens and her mouth goes dry as she roughly pulls the camisette from the hanger, her eyes sinking closed as a feeling of dread washes over her. "Belle," she begins, taking a breath as she looks to the maid. "Are those trunks still in my dressing room? The ones I brought with me when I married Mr. Locksley."

Belle nods. "Yes, I… I believe so."

"Good," she murmurs as her smile brightens. "There's a pair of riding pants in them. They're brown and…" She watches as Belle's eyes widen. "I'd like to wear them today."

"You… want to go riding… in… pants."

"Yes."

"Is that…"

"Allowed?" Regina interjects with a flippant shrug of her shoulders. "I've done far worse than go riding in something inappropriate on private property." A tight, uncomfortable grin stretches across her lips as a knot forms in her stomach. "Besides that, what's the worst thing that could happen? Someone might see that I have knees?" Belle's cheeks flush and she feels a twinge of guilt–but for what, she's not quite sure. "It's just more comfortable," she says, her voice softening. "All of that extra fabric draping down will just get in the way, and I actually want to ride my horse, not… let him walk as slowly as possible down a path in the woods so I don't fall off or get tangled up in my skirts."

"Yes, m'lady," Belle murmurs as she disappears into the adjoining dressing room–and when she's out of sight, Regina's seemingly confident smile fades and her stomach drops. She selects a deep brown riding jacket–again something new that she hasn't had the opportunity to wear. Her fingers traced the gold buttons and dark green piping–and for just a moment, she let her eyes close and she imagined herself atop Rocinante, running through the forest, running as far away as he could take her.

Belle returns and helps her dress–and when it's done, the maid can't help but hide her giggle.

She descends the stairs wearing the tightly fitted riding pants that end just about where her boots begin. Her shoulder square and she lifts her chin, tugging at the fanned waist of her jacket as she takes a long, deep breath, ignoring the sinking feeling at her core as if to prepare herself for battle.

"Mother," she says in a flat, even voice as her stomach churns. "I didn't expect you."

A smile curls onto her lips as Cora's eyes widen with shock. "What in god's name are you wearing?"

"A riding outfit." 

"Honestly, Regina!" Cora snaps. "You look positively ridiculous."

"I'm dressed quite practically for the occasion."

"And what occasion is that?"

Regina blinks. "I thought it was obvious. I'm going riding. That is why one wears a riding outfit."

"Riding…" Cora scoffs. "Will you never grow up?" Her jaw tightens, remembering all of the times they fought over the time she spent in the stables–time she spent there under the guise of riding and tending to her beloved horse. "So childish…"

"Are you here for a reason?"

"As a matter of fact," Cora says, the indignation rising in her voice as her eyes trail disapprovingly over her daughter's choice of clothing. "I am."

Regina nods and her stomach flops–and she wonders if this will ever end, if there will ever come a day when she doesn't feel like a child about to be lashed whenever she and her mother find themselves on opposing sides. "And I suppose your intent was not to come here for the sole purpose of chastising my wardrobe."

"No," she returns coolly. "I'm here to chastise you for something else entirely." Regina flinches as Cora reaches out and grabs her wrist, her fingers pressing to the bone and forcing their eyes to meet. "You made quite a scene last week at the Blanchard's."

"I… don't know what you're talking about, mother," Regina sighs as she tries unsuccessfully to pull away. "You'll have to be more specific."

Cora's eyes widen, her grip tightening as Regina struggles against the urge to wince. "Rumor has it you and your new husband were practically fornicating on the dance floor."

"Fornicating…"

"I'd like to say that were uncharacteristic of…"

"I don't believe this," Regina cuts in. "Were you… were you spying on me?"

"Oh, you daft girl," Cora sighs, clicking her tongue as her eyes roll. "There are eyes and ear everywhere. You should know that by now." Taking a breath, her eyes sink closed–she knows exactly what her mother is talking about, and she can't help but remember the way she and Robin had danced so closely at the Blanchard's ball, how they'd laughed and smiled, how he'd held her and refused to let her stumble despite how dizzy the champagne had made her. She'd felt them all watching, but that night, she'd been too drunk to care–and she's certain whatever the story that made it back to her parents was one of overly exaggerated details that painted her in the worst possible way. "You should have heard the ladies at tea!"

"Right," Regina says in a loud whisper as she yanks her hand away. "Because whatever gossip is spread over tea and biscuits is what's really important, after all."

"I notice that you're not denying anything." 

Regina's shoulders shrug and she feels her breath catch in her chest. "Why bother? You've already decided what actually happened. Why confuse your story with actual facts?"

For a moment, Cora holds her gaze–and a fleeting second, she feels a thrill of possible victory run up her spine as her mother seems speechless, or perhaps even giving her the benefit of doubt. But almost before that short, curious thought is complete, it's quickly thwarted by the clicking of Cora's disapproving tongue.

"Then the two of you went upstairs together," Cora says, her voice suddenly lower and edgier. "They said that the two of you shared a room."

Regina's jaw tightens, remembering her discomfort when they were shown to a single room and remembering how Robin had smiled, promising he'd be a perfect gentleman–and how he'd honored his word. "He is my husband," she says, her voice quiet and unsure. "It's not so uncommon for two married people to share a bed."

At that Cora scoffs. "My god, Regina, are you really so thoughtless? Getting drunk at a party and letting him have his hands all over you in a crowded room where anyone could see it? And then, if that weren't bad enough, you allowed him to take you upstairs!" She shakes her head as her eyes widen with disgust. "Like you were putting on some sort of show."

She feels her cheeks burning and she tries in vain to keep her jaw from trembling–there's a part of her that wants to defend herself, that wants to tell her mother just how uncomfortable that evening had been, to tell her how she'd been ignored, and that the only saving grace of the evening had been Robin's sweetness–but she can't because as much as she hates to admit it, there is some truth in the story that's been told. While the memory of the evening they spent at the Blanchard's little soiree is fuzzy, she vaguely remembers Robin's hands on her hips and the way his forehead rested against hers. She remember champagne they drank and that her laugh was too loud, and she remembers how Robin had to help her keep her balance–and she can just imagine the whispers and giggle from the women who'd once been her friends, and how they couldn't wait to trade little bits of the sordid details of her behavior.

"Is there a point to this, mother?"

"The point is that you are far too old for this," Cora replies in a biting voice. "Your new husband may find your antics amusing now, but pretty soon, he's going to lose interest… if you don't do something more to keep his attention." Again, her grip tightens. "Something that would tie you to him and protect… our arrangements."

"Of course," Regina says with a nod. "Protecting your status is the only thing that really matters, isn't it?"

"Don't be foolish," Cora's quick to say. "And quit dragging your feet." She takes a step in and Regina hears herself hiss as the knot in her stomach tightens. "He's going to tire of you, Regina. Your beauty will fade and that quick tongue of yours will become a nuisance. He'll grow tired of being mocked and the center of gossip, but if you have his child, none of that will matter. He wouldn't so easily cast you out."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Is it so unfathomable that he might actually like me?"

"You should be pregnant by now."

Swallowing hard, her mouth feels dry. "I can't just… make that happen."

"Certainly not if you don't try," Cora snaps. "You need to have his child, Regina. You need to give him a reason not turn you–to turn us–away." Again, Cora's fingers tighten at her wrist and she feels her knees growing weak, but still, she refuses to give in. "What the hell are you waiting for? You won't be young and desirable for ever, and…"

"It isn't like that between us," Regina cuts in, her voice faltering as her cheeks flush. "Robin and I aren't… no matter what your friends saw at the Blanchard's that night or whatever they think they saw, it's not like that between us. We're not…"

"Not like that?" Cora cuts in as her brow furrows. "There's only one possible reason a man like Robin Locksley would have chosen to marry a woman like you. He expects things… things you're obviously willing to give."

Regina can feel the tears starting to well in her eyes and her jaw tenses to the point of being painful. Closing her eyes, she takes a breath, scolding herself into maintaining her composure, not wanting to let her mother know that she's gotten to her–especially not on a day like today–but fully aware that she's failing. "I… I just… don't know that I can do that."

"Of course you can," Cora scoffs. "Just lay back and…"

"Mother! I can't!" The tears well in her eyes as her voice cracks. "I can't just… give myself to him when I'm…"

"How can you be so selfish, Regina? How can you not even consider what will happen to your father and I if this so-called marriage falls apart?" Her eyes narrow and her voice drops. "At least this time you'd be married."

"You don't understand. I can't just… fall into bed with him. It… it wouldn't be fair."

"Can't you, though?" Cora asks, a sardonic chuckle rising into her voice. "You certainly didn't have any qualms about it before."

"That was… different."

"You act like you're the only married woman who has these sorts of marital obligations, like you're the only one who has to make sacrifices."

"It… shouldn't be an obligation. It should be about… trust and love and…"

Cora laughs. "Oh, Regina. What does love have to do with anything?"

For a moment, neither of them says anything–and for a moment, she feels like she's seventeen again. The tears burn in her eyes and she can practically still feel the stinging of her mother's hand as it sailed across her cheek. She remembers the embarrassment she felt as her father's eyes sank closed and he hung his head, and her mother ranted about how vile she was, what a disappointment she was. And as she looked at her now, she couldn't help but think that some things never changed.

"You can't do that," Regina says, her voice hushed as her eyes meet her mother's. "You have to decide. You can't have it both ways."

Cora's eyes narrow. "I'm sorry?"

"I know that I will always be a disappointment to you," she begins, taking a breath and blinking back her tears. "But you can't stand there and insist in the same breath that I'm both a prude and a whore. It… just doesn't work that way." She can feel her hands shaking as she takes a step back. "Next time, let someone know you're coming for breakfast–that way, I can make myself scarce and you can enjoy the free meal."

Her head is still swimming when she reaches the stables–thinking of her mother and of Henry, weighing whether or not holding onto her principles even matters and if it wouldn't be easier to just give in to what everyone wants and expects of her–after all, where has fighting it gotten her? She tries to focus her thoughts on Daniel and their memories, and not on what should have been, and she takes a breath as she pushes open the heavy stable door. A smile edges onto her lips as her eyes close and she breathes in the smell of hay. It's an odd mix of memories that the scent conjures, but they all lead back to a simpler time when any of her troubles could be solved by saddling up Rocinante and allowing herself to get lost in forest for an afternoon with Daniel. No matter how upset she was, he could always make her laugh and he could always make her forget–and for just a moment, she can almost see him, looking up from one of the stalls and giving her that sweet smile that let her know everything was going to be alright.

 _Son of a bitch_.

Her eyes fly open as she's brought back into the present moment, and almost immediately, her eyes settle on Robin, standing at the other end of the stable. He doesn't notice her as he continues to mutter slurred words beneath his breath and her eyebrows arch as he pulls off his shirt in a hasty manner. She feels her cheeks flush as she tips up her chin, craning her neck as her eyes widen as they fall to the curve of his hip–and she comes to the startling realization that his shirt isn't the only piece of clothing he's removed.

Catching her lip between her teeth, she thinks to turn away–obviously, he's unaware of her presence and obviously, she shouldn't be standing there gawking. It's rude and inappropriate, she tells herself, and if he knew she was there–there and watching–he'd be embarrassed. Taking a breath, she decides to turn away–go out and come back in, louder and more noticeably–but a sloshing sound has her stepping forward instead of back, and she leans onto the tips of her toes, watching as he plunges his shirt into a barrel of water, forcing water up and over the edge–and she feels a grin pull onto her lips as she watches the muscles in his back tighten.

A loose floorboard gives him away and he spins around just as she steps around the stall, and he turns around–and immediately, he flushes red.

"Regina!"

"I'm sorry, I…" She feels heat rising into her cheeks–and though she keep telling herself to turn away, she's rooted in place. "I was…" She watches as he bends his knees, trying in vain to cover himself up with his arms and hands, and she feels a giggle bubbling up in her chest. "I didn't mean to…"

"Why are you here?"

"I have a better question," she retorts as a grin twists onto her lips. "Why are you naked?"

"I…" He sighs. "Can we table the conversation until…"

"Oh," she murmurs, reaching for one of the hoses's blankets that's draped over the edge of the stall. "Here. This might… help." She extends the blanket to him and he reaches awkwardly for it, trying unsuccessfully to keep himself covered up–and once more, a giggle escapes her. "I shouldn't laugh, but…"

"It's really not doing much for my ego," he tells her plainly as he wraps the woolen blanket around his waist.

"I'm not laughing at you… just… at the situation."

His eyes narrow as he adjusts the blanket, making sure that it's secure. "That's not convincing."

"I assure you," she says, her voice suddenly sincere. "I'm not laughing at you. I wouldn't. I just… didn't expect to find you, stripping down to nothing and dunking your clothes in a barrel of water."

He nods. "Turns out the foal that was born last month is… quite a spirited little fellow." Regina grins as she looks to the foal, sitting on and munching at a bed of hay. "He kicked mud all over me."

"Mud," Regina repeats, her eyebrow arching as he looks back to Robin. "Are you sure… that's what it was?"

"No," Robin sighs. "Nor am I sure that's what I slipped in."

Again, a giggle bubbles up in her chest. "Oh… that's…"

"Hilarious. I know."

"Unfortunate and…" Her lip catches between her teeth. "Hilarious, yes."

"So, I figured…it's a beautiful morning, why not save myself the embarrassment and wash my clothes here."

"And how is that going for you?"

"Not well." Taking a breath, he finally steps out of the stall and sits back against the hay bales. "You can… go about your business. I assume you didn't come here to watch me make a fool of myself or… to sit here with me as I watch my clothes dry."

"Well, no, but… I could," she says as she turns back to face him. "Wait with you, I mean."

"Oh, you don't have to…"

"I could use the distraction," she cuts in. "And, you could use the help." Robin's brow furrows and she nods to the barrel. "The clothes would dry much quicker if they weren't submerged in water." She laughs softly as his eyes sink closed and she walks to the barrel, pulling out the wet clothes. "You seem to have gotten… whatever it was that was all over you off."

"Well, that's the upside, I suppose." She nods and wrings them out, then lays them over the edge of the stall. "So, tell me," he begins, taking a breath and making an attempt at composure. "What do you need to be distracted from today?"

"My mother, for starters," she says, sitting down beside him and leaning back against one of the bales. "The fact that my son is on an outing I knew nothing about…"

"Oh, that… might be my fault," he says, grimacing slightly. "I told Celeste she needed to… make more of an effort with the boys."

"The boys," Regina repeats. "You mean with one of the boys."

Robin nods. "I honestly thought she'd tell you about…" His voice halts suddenly and she looks over at him, watching as his eyes fill with concern. "Your wrist," he murmurs, looking up at her. "What happened?"

"Oh, it's nothing…"

"It's bruised!"

"My mother just…" Robin blinks, and his eyes widen. "She can be a little rough."

"Regina…"

"It's nothing and I'm fine…" Her eyes fall away from his. "Just a not so gentle reminder of the constant disappointment I bring her."

"I don't like her," Robin says, his voice hesitant but abrupt. "She's too much like my father for my liking."

"They're certainly cut from the same cloth." Tentatively, he reaches over and takes her hand, gently turning it in his as he examines the bruise. "But truly, I'm fine." Taking a breath, she forces a smile. "And if it's alright with you, I'd prefer not to talk about her."

For a moment, he doesn't respond. "For what it's worth," he says finally, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of her wrist. "I'm glad you're here and not there."

"For what it's worth, I am too."

"Are you?" He asks, a slight smile pulling onto his lips as his eyes meet hers. "Are you glad to be here?"

She nods. "This… isn't the life I planned to have," she begins, her voice a little wistful as she looks down at his hand loosely around hers. "But I… can't say that I'm unhappy."

"No?"

"No," tells him as she looks back up. "You're a good man and a good friend, and Henry and I are lucky to have you on our side."

She's not sure when it happened, or even how it happened, but there's a comfort between them. He's one of the few people who has never expected anything from her, who never asked her to be something or someone that she wasn't. He's been patient and a kind, thoughtful and courteous–and she'd be a fool not to love him.

Before she can continue the thought–to lead herself to thought that should naturally occur next–she feels a sharp pang of guilt at her core. Looking away from him she pulls her hand away, and she can feel warm tears brimming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs in a hushed, barely audible voice–and then her breath catches in her throat when Robin slides closer to her, stretching his arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm, offering her comfort without explanation. And for a while, she just accepts it. Every now and then, feeling that discomforting guilt that squeezes at her core and tugs at her heartstrings–and she hates that it's on a day like today, that she feels herself moving on, moving forward in a life that doesn't include Daniel.

Robin continues to stroke her arm. And every now and then, she feels a giggle bubbling up inside of her chest, stomping down the guilty feelings as she remembers his awkwardness when he discovered her in the stable or as she imagines him covered in mud as the sweet little foal munches at the mountain of hay, completely unbothered by his state–and it occurs to her that while this isn't the comfort she thought she'd find in the stables, perhaps it's the comfort that she needs.

For the rest of the day, she avoids him–she avoids everyone.

It's nothing personal–at least not where he's concerned–but it's hard for her to keep her emotions in check, hard to watch world going on around her, watching everyone go about their day, realizing that it means nothing to them, that it's just another, just like any other. And, if she's being perfectly honest with herself, she's not sure that she feel guilty enough for the way she feels when she's near him or for even considering the notion of moving on.

All through dinner she barely utters a word, and when Richard announces that they'll go onto the drawing room, she quietly excuses herself, making her way out of the dining room before a footman can even lift her plate from the table.

She finds herself up on the roof–a spot that's become her favorite get-away at Sherwood.

Sitting there, with her knees drawn up, she stares out at the starry sky, trying to remember the constellations Daniel had taught her years before. A smile tugs onto her lips as she remembers it–remember lying on her back in the tall grass, staring up at the night sky as Daniel pointed out patches of stars. Everything had seemed so perfect then and those moments felt they could last forever–and she finds herself thinking that she'd been such a naive fool.

"You've discovered the best seat in the house." Her head turns sharply at the sound of Robin's voice and she watches as he steps out onto the rooftop. "I'm not sure if it was intentional, but whomever designed this estate created the perfect spot for stargazing." He grins. "I've been coming up here since I was a boy."

"Do you still come up here often?"

"I used to."

"Should I go?"

"I'd prefer it if you stayed," Robin says, sitting down beside her. "Unless… you want to be alone, then I can go."

Looking back out at the night sky, she shakes her head. "That hardly seems fair. This is, after all, your estate."

"Sherwood is no less yours than it is mine," Robin says as he sinks down beside her. "Besides, after you disappeared so quickly after dinner, I was hoping to find you. I… wanted to see that you were alright."

"I'm fine," she says too bruskly to be convincing. "I always am." Then, taking a breath, she looks over at him. "I was actually hoping to catch Henry before he went to sleep, but… alas, I missed him again." A sad smile edges onto her lips. "Tonight is the first night since coming here I haven't been able to sneak into the nursery and read them stories before bed."

Robin blinks. "You read stories to… both boys."

She nods. "I could hardly turn one away." Then a grin pulls onto her lips. "Besides, Roland is a captive audience. Henry always falls asleep halfway through any story."

A soft chuckle escapes him. "I… had no idea you read bedtime stories to my son."

"I don't have very many positive things to say about your father, but he has quite the collection of adventure stories and things that strike the imaginations of little boys." She laughs a little as her bottom lip catches between her teeth. "I should mention that your son is rather convinced that you're Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood," he repeats slowly as his eyebrows arch. "I assume those are the stories you've been reading…"

"Yes," she tells him. "And I have to admit, I… see the similarities. You share more with the legendary hero than just a name."

"You flatter me."

"No…"

She watches as grin pulls onto his lips, and even in the darkness, she thinks she sees his cheeks flushing slightly. "I certainly chose well," he says, drawing in a breath and slowly releasing it as he looks back to her. "Did I ever tell you that between you and Marian, there was another woman… an almost-wife."

"No," she murmurs as her eyes widen. "Did you… love her?"

He shakes his head. "I was still madly in love with Marian. I hadn't even accepted that she was truly gone before my father was attempting to arrange something. He said I needed a wife and Roland needed a mother, and…" He sighs. "I was too caught up in my grief to argue it."

"You didn't marry her though, so… what happened?"

"Well, for starters," he begins, smiling as a chuckle rises into his voice. "She kept calling my son Ronald."

"Ronald…"

"Yes, and one day she was here for dinner at my father's request and I was sitting across from her and I just… realized that my son would be better off with just one parent than with a woman who couldn't be bothered to learn his name, a woman was only a part of our lives for the money."

Regina sighs and nods. "My mother didn't learn Henry's name until he was four."

Robin blinks, "But he's named after your father."

"Yes, you'd think that'd have made it easier, but… it didn't," she says, shaking her head. "He was "the child" to her for his first four years."

"What changed?"

"I moved back in with them," she replies flatly, trying in vain to ignore the churning of her stomach. "Daniel died and I was desperate and… completely out of options." Taking a breath, she shrugs her shoulders. "So I went back, a Scarlet Letter and a son in tow…and, then everything was impossible for her to ignore." For a moment, he doesn't reply; instead he smiles wistfully and narrows his eyes, as though trying to size her up, as though trying to decide what he wants to say. And it's then, that she realizes he's figured her out and knows the secret she's been holding to herself all day, or, at the very least, he's close to it. "Today is the anniversary of Daniel's death," she confesses, her voice cracking–it's the first time since it happened that she's said it aloud. "It's been three years and…"

Her voice trails off, and she doesn't finish her thought–but nonetheless, Robin nods. A sad smile edges onto her lips and there's something comforting about the way he's looking at her, his eyes full of understanding because he knows exactly what she's feeling.

"What happened?" He asks quietly "You don't have to answer, but if you… want to talk about it… I'm here to listen… or to just be…"

"You're sweet," she says, batting the back of her fingers over her eyes. "All I wanted today was to spend time with our boy, to… try to keep his memories of his father alive and…" Her voice catches in her throat and her eyes press close. "He doesn't remember, though," she murmurs as she looks to Robin. "He only remembers the stories I tell him. He remembers my memories, not his own."

"It's hard…"

"It is," she nods. "But… I'm… I'm glad that the memories are fading, in a way. I'm glad that he doesn't seem to remember what today is or… any of it." Shaking her head, she shrugs. "I'm glad he won't live with those memories."

"A blessing and a curse…"

"Exactly," she nods, looking back to the starry sky. "I found him that morning," she says, somewhat abruptly as she looks back at him. "There was a large party at the pub, and he used to make sure the guests' horses were tended to whenever they stayed." She pauses to take a breath, and for a moment, her eyes sink closed and force out the tears. "Something was leaving, I think, and it was unexpected, so he went to the stables to get their horse and prepare their carriage, and it was… raining that night, and I guess the horses was spooked by something and threw him and…" Her eyes open and tears fall down her cheeks. "He always woke me up when he came in after a late night. He'd slide into bed with me and we'd talk about whatever had happened in the hours we'd spent apart, but that night he didn't do that, and I woke up alone… and so, I went downstairs and then to the stables and…"

"Oh, Regina…"

"It was a really hard day… followed by a lot of really hard days."

"I know," he murmurs in reply as his arm folds around her shoulders. "Losing someone you love is never easy, but… that…"

"I was pregnant," she murmurs, her voice abrupt. "I didn't know it until I lost it a few days later." She sucks in a breath as her tears fall freely, and his arm tightens around her. "That day was… the beginning of the end, it seemed."

"You still had Henry."

"Yes," she says, nodding against his shoulder. "Henry saved my life that day…I don't think I'd have…"

"Regina…"

"It's true."

Robin sighs and she feels him press a comforting kiss to the top of her head–and once more, she feels a sharp pang of guilt. "I know it is," he murmurs. "I know it because I remember thinking something very similar once upon a time."

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"I'd like to think so," he says, rubbing his hand over her arm in a way that's soothing and in a way that makes make the pain feel duller. "I'd like to think we could help each other through it."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course," he readily agrees. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you know anything about constellations?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he tells her with a nod. "In an odd way, I used to find them comforting. I'd come up here and spread out and stare up at the sky, and think about other worlds beyond this one…"

"I used to do that too," she murmurs, leaving out that it was Daniel who'd taught her. "I used to imagine what it'd be like to run away from everything and… find another realm." She hears a little laugh bubbling up from her chest. "Places with unicorns and and castles made of clouds and stars."

"My realms were a bit different," he tells her. "You know, after you and Daniel ran away and…"

"Everyone was talking about it…"

"Well, yes, but… after that, I used to envy you."

"Me?" She asks, finally picking up her head from his shoulder. "Of all people in this world, you envied me?"

"You got away," he says simply. "You found that other realm, and I imagined you were happy there."

"I was."

They don't say anymore about it; instead, they sit back against the brick, looking up at the night sky. They talk about supernovas and craters of the moon; they talk about the North Star and Halley's Comet, and they speculate about Ceres. To her surprise he can quote _Phaenomena_ to her and he readily points out the Big Dipper. He laughs when she tells him about an astronomer that wanted to name all the constellations after lizards and leeches, and then she finds herself smiling in awe as he fold down his arm, revealing his lion tattoo representing the Nemean Lion killed by Hercules that went on to live in the stars.

And it's then that she feels a smile pulling onto her lips–a soft and genuine smile, and before she loses her nerve, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, catching the corner of her mouth. She lets herself linger there longer than she should, and he turns a little, pecking gently at her lips before pulling back, allowing a smile of his own to form.

"What was… that for?" He asks as his eyes meet hers.

"For reminding me that… I'm not so alone in this world," she replied easily as she rises to her feet. "I needed that today." A grin twist onto her lips and she feels a light fluttering at her core, and she finds herself thinking that Daniel would have liked Robin, and that perhaps he wouldn't want her to feel so guilty, that he'd want her to be happy, even if it meant that she was with someone else. Taking a breath, she doesn't linger for too long on the though, not letting herself doubt it; instead, she smiles again. "Good night, Robin."

"Good night," he murmurs back as she turns away–and as she slips back in through the window, she turns back and watches as a bright smile stretches over his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

Robin finds Regina in the drawing room, sitting in a bay window as the morning sun pours into the room, with a book folded on her lap, gazing out onto the east garden. The window's open slightly and when the boys' laughs ring out, he watches a slight smile draw onto her lips–and for fleeting moment, he's caught off guard by how beautiful she is, how effortlessly beautiful she is in moments like these, where she's unguarded and relaxed. He takes a few unnoticed steps toward her and cranes his neck to see into the garden, catching glimpse of the boys running on the lawn with toy swords. His eyes shift to Regina, watching how she watches them play, and he almost hates to interrupt… almost.

A smile curls onto his lips as he clears his throat, making his presence known to her and grimacing as she flinches, turning sharply to face him with wide eyes and her guard suddenly cast up.

"I… didn't mean to startle you," he says, taking a step back as guilt stabs a this core, hating that he's ruined a perfectly content moment. "I shouldn't have…"

"You didn't startle me," she's quick to say, in a dismissive voice. "I just didn't expect anyone. I thought I was alone."

"You jumped."

"You just… surprised me, that's all."

"Nonetheless," he says sincerely. "I'm sorry." He shifts a bit awkwardly, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he shifts on his feet. "I missed you at breakfast this morning," he murmurs, eager to change the subject. "Belle said you were coming down, but…"

"Oh," she breathes out, as she turns herself in the bay window. "I planned to, but then I reached as far as the threshold and I heard your father blathering on and on about a grandchild and his disappointment…" She shrugs and shakes her head. "I decided I'd much rather have breakfast with Henry and Roland."

"And how was that?"

"They were delightful company," she says as a warm smile tugs onto her lips. "Roland was kind enough to share some of his egg, and Henry shared his apple slices." She laughs for a moment and her bottom lip between her teeth. "Celeste was… not as delightful."

"Oh?"

"She seems to think I need to ask her permission to see my son, that my visits are… intrusive."

"I'll talk to her…"

"That's… unnecessary," Regina says as she folds the book closed and sets it aside. "I… may have already said a thing or two about it."

"Did you?" He asks, realizing he's asking a completely rhetorical and useless question, as a proud little grin edges onto his lips. "I'm glad."

Her cheeks flush slightly and she looks away, almost shyly–and for a moment, he's reminded of an evening only the week before, the evening they spent together on the rooftop. Her laugh had been intoxicating–so soft and genuine–and her gaze so sincere. They'd sat there together for more than an hour, pointing out constellations and sharing their memories, letting themselves get lost in the moment. Even now, his heart beats a little faster as he remembers how she'd leaned in–so unexpectedly–and kissed him goodnight, and he can't help but smile as he remembers how his eyes had closed and his breath caught at the back of his throat as her lips pressed to his cheek, catching the corner of his mouth. He'd turned his head a little, wanting more than anything to kiss her–to kiss her properly–but he hadn't been able to find the nerve to do it, and then she'd pulled away. His mouth was dry and his heart raced as she smiled at him–sweet and shy–and he'd struggled to find his words. She'd said goodnight and disappeared into the open window, leaving him to grapple with his feelings for her–grappling with the notion that perhaps, they weren't as one-sided as they'd been.

"So, um… what happened at breakfast?"

"Hmm?"

"Breakfast with your father," Regina says, looking up at him with curious eyes. "You made it seem like something happened."

"Oh, right…" He murmurs, clearing his throat and taking a breath. "My, um… my father told me that he'll be spending the evening at the Blanchards. Apparently, Leopold has extended an invitation for dinner and billiards, and bit of hunting tomorrow afternoon."

"How nice for him."

Robin laughs. "I was thinking more of the lines of… how nice it'll be for _us_."

"That too," she says, he cheeks flushing as she grins. "I'm not sure how we'll survive a meal without him critiquing the menu, course by course." Her grin brightens and turns coy, a little chuckle creeping out of her. "How will I know if the fish is dry or the cobbler too tart?"

"I could invite your mother. I'm _sure_ she'd have an opinion."

Regina's eyes roll, and he feels his shoulders relaxing. "If we invited my mother for dinner, your father would return to find that his entire staff had quit in protest."

"I… am oddly alright with that," he admits, a laugh bubbling up from his chest. "I'm not fond of many of them." Leaning back against the arm of a chair, he smiles as her eyebrows rise. "In fact, I was sort of thinking that perhaps would could give a few of them the evening off… since my father won't be here and all, I don't see the need for… some of the usual formalities."

"The usual formalities?"

He nods. "I was thinking we could have the boys come down for dinner and…"

A smile twists onto her lips. "I'd love that."

"And I'm sure they'd love it, too."

"Celeste will hate it."

"And that's why she'll be getting the evening off."

At that, Regina laughs out. "I'm… not sure I can picture Celeste having a night on the town." She drops the book onto her lap and turns to face him. "I mean, where would she go? The theatre? A public house? All without a chaperone? So scandalous!"

"Perhaps we can arrange one," he suggests, feeling his shoulders relax. "If anything to keep her from correcting people's grammar and complaining about her tea being too cold." At that, Regina laughs and he finds his smile brightening. "But who could we get to go with her… it'd be a pity if she refused to go."

"Oh, no. No, we can't have that."

"No… no we can't at all."

"The cook," Regina says suddenly, her eyes brightening as she looks up at him. "We could send the cook along with her. She strikes me as the type who can really… let loose and stay up past nine."

Robin nods, his brow furrowing as he considers it. "And… if we let the cook go, we'll eat…what?"

"I can cook," Regina returns easily.

"I seem to remember you telling me once that when you married Daniel you couldn't so much as boil an egg."

"Well, that's true," she nods, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, looking a little defensive. "But that when I got married. I learned…" A little laugh rises into her voice, and he can't help but smile at the way her eyes light up. "I'm not great at it, but I… can manage a few things."

Robin nods, feeling a an stirring of pride at the way she smiles. "It's settled then. I'll let them know once my father's gone. No need to unnecessarily ruffle his feathers." Robin's eyes roll as he shakes his head, "He might not go, then…"

"And if the cook is out, I certainly don't need a kitchen staff…"

Robin laughs as he rises from the chair. "A paid evening off for the entire kitchen staff? You're trying to win them over yet."

"Well… I do have to live here. I might as well make it somewhat tolerable."

He feels a pang of guilt stab into his core and for a moment, he thinks he should say something–though, for the life of him, he doesn't know what. In months since their marriage, their relationship has changed from one of complete distrust and skepticism to one of mutual friendship. In those months she'd become his closest confidant, and though he'd always liked her–or perhaps, the idea of her–she occupied his thoughts, day and night. He'd even venture to say that he was in love with her–and not just the idea of her. As they'd gotten to know each other, he found himself smiling and laughing more, he found himself in awe of her resilience and her strength, her maternal instincts and humanity–but as deep as his feelings for her ran, he wasn't exactly sure how she felt about him. Sure, there'd been that little kiss–that moment they'd shared on the rooftop, a moment he'd thought about again and again for days and days–but he can't help but think it was influenced by the wine they'd had at dinner, the memories they'd shared with one another, and the cool night air. And every time he allowed himself to think that maybe it'd been more than that–something real and something genuine–he reminds himself of how it all started, how he'd forced her hand in marriage through a land contract.

"My culinary wheelhouse isn't all that varied or refined," she begins, pulling him back into the moment. "But, any requests? Or, rather things you won't eat…"

"I'm not picky," he's quick to say. "I'm sure whatever you decide to make will be wonderful." He grins as her lip catches between her teeth and her eyes drift past him, and feels his heart flutter with anticipation of what this evening will bring.

Regina finds herself standing at the center of the largest kitchen she's ever seen, and suddenly, she's not sure where to even begin.

Looking around, she takes a breath, thinking back to the tiny little kitchen at the back of the inn where she and Daniel had lived, and thinks about some of her early attempts at cooking. Daniel's cousins, who owned the inn would raise their brows and shake their heads, but they were always willing to offer a helpful hint or explain how things had gone so wrong. Slowly, she'd learned a trick or two; and slowly, she'd stopped burning and undercooking things, and she remembers the proud smile that stretched over Daniel's lips when he came upstairs after a long evening of work, to find a table set up with dinner waiting for him.

And she finds herself thinking about what that sort of smile would look like on Robin…

"Can I help?" Flinching, she spins around to find Robin standing in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets and his blue eyes shining. "The boys are napping and…"

"You're bored."

"Yes. Tremendously."

Shaking her head she laughs and reaches for a sack of potatoes. "You could… help me mash these." Robin nods, gingerly making his way across the kitchen. Reaching into the bag she tosses him a potato, watching as he catches it and watching the way his hands form around it as he stares blankly at it. A grin twists onto her lips as he stares at it. "You… don't know how to do that, do you?"

"I… assume in involves a knife and… boiling water and… something to crush them with."

"It does," she confirms. "I can show you. You have to peel them, first."

"It's probably a bit like shaving…" he murmurs. "Just the top layer, don't cut too deep…." He sighs and looks up at her. "Not that I've ever shaven myself…"

"I get it," she says easily, rounding the countertop. "You know about the eggs…"

"I do," he grins. "So, what are we making."

"Shepherd's pie," she says, taking the potato back from him. "Henry likes it and it's filling….and it's one of the few things I actually know how to make."

"I'm not familiar with it…"

"It's a meat pie with a mashed potato topping."

Robin's eyebrows arch, and he looks genuinely intrigued. "So, it's all… mixed together?"

"It is," she says, feeling a grin tugging up at the corners of her mouth. "And for dessert we're having apple pudding… which is like bread pudding made with…"

"Apples."

"Yes," she nods, watching the way he smiles at her and feeling a warm fluttering at her core. "Exactly." For a moment, they both just stand there, staring at one another, eyes locked and her heart racing. "So, I have to admit," she begins, finally looking away and taking a breath. "I've never actually used a stove. I'm used to… something a little more traditional."

"I've all the faith in you… and rest assured, I will be of no help."

A grin twists onto her lips, and she nods, then bends to haul a large pot to the counter. "How about you fill this and I'll go get the meat from the cellar."

Robin nods and her stomach flutters as she steps around him, opening the the door at the back of the kitchen that leads to the cellar. She finds the brined lamb easily and smiles at the basket of vegetables the gardner brought in for her while the cook glared in her general direction, unamused by the lady of the house's attempt to cook. She grabs a clove of garlic and tucks a bottle of red cooking wine beneath her arm, and then heads back up the stairs–and when she reaches the top, she can't help but laugh and any nervousness she felt, melts away.

"Um, what are you… doing?" She asks, nodding toward the counter where Robin has lined up all of the potatoes. "You, uh, don't need to… do that."

"Well, I… filled the pot," he says, nodding in its direction. "And then, I needed to do something…"

"So, you… lined the potatoes up."

"Yes, by size. Biggest to littlest," he says with a nod. "Just like I taught Roland to line up his blocks."

Pursing her lips, she blinks at the potatoes. "That's…"

"Pathetic. I know."

"I was going for… adorable, actually," she says, momentarily letting her eyes meet his as she sets the basket down with the meat and the wine. "So, you made that dragon for Henry, right?"

"I did…"

"So, I think peeling the potatoes is going to be a bit like that… or so I'd think." She selects a knife and holds it out to him. "Push the blade away from yourself and all you want to do is take off the first layer of the potato. If you cut off more, that's alright, it doens't actually matter. You'd just might have to peel and mash more."

"I… think I can manage that."

"And then when you're done, we'll figure out how to…" She sighs and motions to the stove, "…light that thing."

"And, what are you going to do?"

"Everything else," she says, feeling a smirk tug up at the corner of her mouth. "Now, start peeling."

Robin stares down at the arrangement of plates and silverware, and for the life of him, he can't tell if it's right. Since he was a teenager, he'd dined in this room for every meal. He'd plucked the right silverware out of the lineup with every course, time and time again, but he'd never once paid attention to it. He knew the staff spent hours each week arranging everything just so–the proper spoons for the proper dishes, the right glasses with whatever beverages would be served–and though there'd always been such an emphasis on the correct way to do things and impressively elegant dining arrangements, as he blinked down at the choices in front of him, he hardly thought any of it mattered. After all, a spoon was a spoon–any of them would get the job done–and without a row of footmen ensuring dinner was carried out in the most proper of ways, who would care if an incorrect utensil was used at an incorrect time?

Taking a breath, he fights against the urge to yawn as he plucks out the basics–a spoon and a fork for each of them, and knives for the adults. He finds a serving spoon and sets it next to the Shepherd's pie that still sits in its cast iron baking dish, and then he pushes another large spoon into the apple pudding.

"Alright," Regina's voice calls in a nearly soft sing-song voice. "Here we are…"

Looking up from the table settings, he watches as Regina ccomes into the dining room with the boys. She has Henry by the hand and Roland on her hip, and he chuckles as Henry pulls her forward, practically dragging her into the dining room as he bounced toward the padded chairs, obviously reading to eat. Robin rounds the table and pulls out a chair as Henry breaks free from his mother's hold, bounding toward the chair and climbing into it, chattering on and on about his excitement over dinner.

"I've never eaten in here," Roland mumbles as his eyes turned up to look at the sconces that lined the walls. "It's so… big. And dark."

"We used to eat together all the time," Henry says, turning in the chair and watching as Robin pulls Roland from Regina's arms. "But we just had a teeny, teeny, tiny, little kitchen," he says to no one in particular. "We could lay in bed and eat if we wanted to and we'd still be in the kitchen…"

Regina laughs out as Robin sets Roland onto a chair, and the boy's brow furrows as he tips up his chin to try to see above the edge of the table. "I think someone will be sharing a seat with me," Robin says, as he scoops his son back up, and sits down at the head of the table.

"Why do we get to eat in here?" Henry asks, looking between them. "We don't usually."

"Oh," Regina breathes out as she reaches for the serving spoon. "Since everyone's out for the evening, Robin thought it might be fun to have a… a family dinner."

Henry grins as he holds out his plate, still bouncing in his chair. "It is fun. The chairs are squishy." Robin can't help but laugh as Regina shakes her head and serves them all portions of the Shepherd's pie before sliding into her own seat and scooping a hefty spoonful onto her own plate. "We should do it more."

"That would be nice," Robin agrees. "I like this… it just being the four of us." His eyes shift to Regina, watching as a slight smile pulls onto her lips. "Maybe we can arrange for this to happen again…"

"Provided I don't poison anyone tonight. My culinary skills are… spotty, at best."

Roland's eyes widen a bit. "You made this?"

"I did," Regina says with a nod, watching as Roland pushes his fork into a strip of meat and drags it through the potato topping. "How did I do?"

"It's good!" Roland says, stuffing the fork into his mouth. "Really good," he tells her, his head bobbing back and forth as he tries to nod and chew. "You're magic."

"Better than the stew and biscuits nanny usually serves."

"You don't like that?" Regina asks, looking to her son. "You never said anything before."

Henry shrugs. "It's not bad," he says as he stabs his fork into a chunk of carrot and grins at it. "It's just the same… _always_."

"Imagine that," Robin murmurs as he looks to Regina. "Celeste isn't terribly imaginative when it comes to planning a menu."

"She says hearty stock makes for hearty boys," Roland says, tipping his head back to look at Robin. "Whatever that means. I just know that my stomach always feels like I ate a whole brick!"

Robin's eyes meet Regina's, and for a moment, they both fight against the urge to snicker at the nanny's expense, before the conversation shifts.

They talk about the boys' day, from their impromptu breakfast with Regina to their sword fight in the garden. Henry proudly proclaims that he and Roland were able to save the dragon from being slayed by an evil knight, and Roland's cheeks flush when he adds that they'd pretended Celeste was the evil knight and she hadn't been pleased to be poked with their swords. Henry quickly adds that they apologized before Regina can even ask, and he goes on to explain they'd picked the nanny a bouquet of wild flowers to make up for it as Roland mumbled something about hoping there were bees in it, that both he and Regina pretend not to hear.

When dinner is done, Regina plates the dessert and they joke about how enraged his father would be that they were going through to the drawing room, desserts and small children in hand. The boys sit together in an oversized chair that was usually reserved for Richard and Regina tosses a few extra logs onto the fire, making it crackle and pop, and making the boys giggle.

"So," Robin begins as he opens a cabinet and reaches for a dusty board. "How about a game?"

"What kind of game?" Henry asks, craning his neck to see the board.

"Checkers," Robin says easily. "It was a favorite when I was a boy."

"I've never played," Henry says as his eyes shift up to Robin.

"Me neither…" Roland echos, looking to Henry and them mimicking his wide, curious gaze.

"I have," Regina cuts in, as she rises from where she knelt at the hearth to collect the boys' plates. "We can teach you," she says, looking between them as she takes a napkin and wipes it over Henry's mouth, then folds it in half and wipes Roland's. "Come on…"

Robin sets the board up on a table, watching as Regina leads the boys over to it–and he can't help but notice how much more relaxed she seems than usual–unguarded and comfortable in her surroundings. It strikes him as he arranges the board on the table and drops a little satchel of chips down beside it, that the might be the first time he's seen her this way without the aid of wine.

An easy grin pulls onto her lips as she reaches for the drawstring bag of checkers and sits down, pulling Henry into her lap. Robin lifts Roland as Regina plucks out the red pieces and he watches as Henry lifts one of the chips from the table, and grins at it–and he remembers that it's his step-son's favorite color. Lifting Roland onto his lap, he watches as Regina lays out the red chips in their spaces on the board, and he chuckles softly as Roland mimics her placement with the black chips, and he finds himself thinking he wishes their lives could always be like this, that they'd be happier this way–and then, he realizes how impossible the mere thought of that is and he pushes it away.

Both boys are groggy by the time they take them back up to the nursery.

Regina helps them each to undress and change into their nightshirts, and from the corner of her eye she can see Robin watching her curiously. When they're changed, she takes them each by the hand and leads them over to Henry's bed, plucking a book from the shelf as they pass it. Henry settles in first, scooting all the way to the wall and then she gets in and lifts Roland into her lap. Her arms fold around them and she rocks Roland for a few seconds as Henry opens up the book, pulling out the ribbon bookmark as he grins up at her expectantly.

"You don't have to lurk in the doorway," she says, looking to Robin. "You can join us."

"Oh," he murmurs, awkwardly shifting himself into the room. "I just… there's not much room… and… I know the three of you have a routine and…"

"Sit," she insists, nodding at the foot of the bed. "There's plenty of room for you." She grins as he sits down and leans against the bedpost. "Otherwise, it'd be like Celeste was standing in the doorway… judging me and my inappropriate choices."

At that, Robin laughs out. "Well, we can't have that."

"Mama, you need to start the story," Henry says, tugging at her sleeve. "Before we fall asleep."

"Okay, okay," she murmurs, offering a wink to Robin before turning her attention to the open page.

Roland snuggles back against her, nuzzling against her shoulder while Henry's head comes to rest on her arm. She tells a wild tale of two little boys exploring the deep jungles of India with their not-so-little baby elephant friend, Kandula–a name that Henry chose based on a caption in another book from another lifetime. Together, the three of them cross rivers and stomp through the mud, fending off tigers and snakes and other menacing creatures–and somewhere along the way, her voice trails off and both boys are sleeping against her.

Robin nudges her foot and nods to Roland whose head's fallen backwards. Regina chuckles softly as she looks at him, eyes pressed tightly closed and mouth wide open, and she shakes her head. "We should get him into his own bed," Robin says after a moment, shifting himself forward and lifting his son from her arms.

Regina drops a quick kiss into his messy curls as Robin slowly pulls him away, and then she slips off the bed and adjusts Henry's blankets. She smiles a little as he snuggles against the pillows, stretching out in her absence. Leaning in, she places a fluttery kiss against cheek and she grins when he smiles in his sleep.

Robin blows out the candles on the nightstand and her breath catches as his hand meets the small of her back, guiding her out of the nursery and into the dimly lit hall.

"I… am not ready for bed," he tells her, his blue eyes shining with what looks like excitement. "How would you feel about a nightcap?"

"A nightcap…"

"Some wine or champagne or… more pudding."

Her chest tightens as her bottom lip catches between her teeth. "I could stand for a little more pudding… and some wine."

Smiling victoriously, he reaches for her hand and tugs her down the long corridor toward the kitchen. She can't help but laugh out as he opens a linen closet, pushing aside the hanging bedsheets to reveal a narrow door, and before she can even ask, he opens it and tugs her along. His fingers tighten around her hand and her heart beat quickens as he leads her through the dark passageway until he finally reaches its end. He fumbles around for a moment before finding the latch–and then, he opens it up the wine cellar.

There's a nearly-burned candle sitting on an iron table, providing the rooms only light. Robin tugs her in and closes the door, flashing a quick grin as he lets go of her hand and winds through the rows and rows of bottles.

"A-ha!" he declares, brandishing two green glass bottles. "I found them!"

"I… see that," she says, laughing as she squints to see the label. "Care to tell me what, exactly, it is that you've found?"

Robin nods as he comes toward her, holding out one of the bottles for her to take. "Moscato d'Asti."

"From Italy…"

"Yes," Robin says, looking down at the bottle he holds. "My father ordered a couple of cases of wine after a trip we took when I was about fourteen… to his dismay this arrive in the place of his barolo."

"How disappointed he must have been."

"Oh, he was," Robin says, shaking his head. "I, on the other hand, was not."

A smirk forms on her lips. "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't the first time you've stolen a bottle or two of this wine?"

"You know me so well…"

Regina's eyes roll and she sighs–and she finds herself thinking that there's something endearing about his penchant for petty thievery. A grin edges onto her lips as she looks up at him, his eyes still sparkling with excitement, and she wonders how it all began.

But before she can ask, he reaches for her hand, tugging her up another set of stairs that leads them to the kitchen and then to the dining room where the Shepherd's pie dish and the leftover pudding still sit.

"So tell me," she says, as she reaches for a few of the plates and stacks them. "How was dinner?"

"It was wonderful…"

"You're lying…"

"No," he insists. "I enjoyed it. Good food, good company… nothing to complain about."

A lopsided grin tugs at a corner of her mouth. "Really?"

"Do you see anything left?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't have had a second helping if I didn't like it… nor would I have force-fed my child." Grinning, he reaches for the bowl of pudding. "Now, come on…"

He nods toward the door and she follows, laughing as he grabs a couple of forks as he passes them. He leads her back to the drawing room and she feels her stomach flutter as he sets down his bottle of wine and the pudding and reaches for a blanket, fanning it out onto the floor in front of the fire. Blinking a couple of times, she takes step toward it, thinking about how her mother would cringe to see a expensive, decorative blanket being used for such a reason–and a little sense of thrill runs down her spine.

"So, we each get our own bottle," Regina notes as sits down on the blanket and folds her legs beneath herself. "That's…"

"Completely appropriate," Robin says as he tosses an extra long onto the fire. "The alcohol content of this wine is woefully low."

"So, your intention is to get me drunk…"

"Well, not just you…" he says as he sits down on the blanket and stretches out his legs. "Me too."

"I see…" she murmurs, laughing out as he pulls a corkscrew from his pocket. "Do you just carry that around with you? This isn't the first time you just… pulling that thing out of nowhere."

"No," he says as he stabs the corkscrew into the cork of his bottle. "I swiped it on the way out of the cellar."

"You do that a lot…"

Robin shrugs absently. "I never steal anything that'll be missed."

"Just… wine and corkscrews and…" She stops as the cork comes out with a _pop_ , and then he reaches for her bottle, and she watches as he turns the corkscrew into the cork. "Why though?"

"Why do I steal things?" She nods and leans back on her hands. "When I was a child, I took things that… no one else wanted, things that my father would never let me have, things that… I thought I could take better care of than their rightful owners." She feels an odd stirring in her chest as she thinks about the land contract that led to their marriage–how she was the unwanted thing, how she was happier at Sherwood than she'd been at her parents estate–but she chooses not to dwell on it, and smiles as he continues. "When I was about Henry's age, I lost my mother and that was… very difficult for me. She passed away in the winter months, when not many people come 'round and… when spring rolled around, my father decided that that was the end of our mourning. We needed to move on, we needed to be men."

"I'm sorry…"

Robin shakes his head, scoffing a little as his eyes meet hers. "I didn't mean for that to take such a dark turn…"

"Don't apologize. I think you and I know better than most that sometimes life has dark, unexpected turns."

Taking a breath, Robin nods and hands her one of the forks. "Well, that spring, my father took me on a play date with Jefferson Hatfield, and I'll have you know he was a much of an ass back then as he is now." At the mention of Jefferson's name, Regina's stomach drops and she feels her mouth suddenly go dry. Her jaw tenses as her eyes shift to Robin, but he's looking past her and she lets out a breath of relief. "His mother had just given him this little bird that… was attached to a ring, and when you wagged your finger, it's wings flapped." He laughs softly–and perhaps even a little sadly–as he looks to her, and she takes a quick swig of the wine to avoid making eye-contact. "He called it stupid and threw it in the dirt and… I rescued it." He shook his head. "He'd no idea how precious such a gift from his mother seemed to boy like me, and… I figured, the bird would be happier and better cared for with me, so I took it."

"That's… so noble of you."

"That's one way to think of it," he says, as he stabs his fork into the pudding. "My father could certainly think of another."

"Did he make you give it back?"

"He tried… and failed," Robin says, as a chuckle rises into his voice. "I've still got it upstairs, in a trinket box in my closet."

"Well, it seems you were right then," Regina murmurs, her shoulder relaxing. "It was better off with you."

"Indeed," Robin says agreeably, nodding as he takes a long sip of the wine, and then pluck an apple slice from the pudding, flashing her a self-satisfied grin as he chews.

"We should kick my father out more often," Robin says, a loud chuckle following his words. "I've had more fun today than I have… in… well… longer than I can remember."

Regina laughs out in response, and he can't help but smile. She's nearly through her bottle of wine, and he's nearly through his, and while their conversation had started off on a heavier note, it quickly turned to lighter topics. They talked about the boys protecting their imaginary dragon from Celeste and laughed as they imagined how the nanny was spending her evening out, and no matter what they imagined her doing, she was always wearing a scowl. From there, they jumped to their little adventure that afternoon in the kitchen, and she teased him mercilessly every time he rubbed at his sore arm, a result of an afternoon of mashing potatoes.

"I agree," she says. "It's… nice with it being just the four of us."

"Something to eventually look forward to, the old man can't live forever," Robin muses as he takes a short swig from the wine bottle and feels a pang of guilt. "Not that I…"

"I get it," Regina cuts in, "Your father and my mother are cut from the cloth, and it wasn't too long ago that I fantasized about shoving her through a mirror and sending her into another realm or…" His eyebrow arches and she laughs. "What?"

"What kind of bedtime stories were you told as a child?" A grin twists onto his lips as he thinks of the story she told their boys–a story that she obviously wasn't reading, despite flipping through the pages of a beautifully illustrated book. "Perhaps that's where you learned to spin such colorful tales?"

"I… was not read stories as a child," she says, very matter-of-factly. "My mother believed encouraging me to be imaginative would only lead me to trouble… and she was right." He smiles a little as her eyes roll. "And I was not about to read our sons… all sorts of drivel about supposed savage people of a conquered land."

"How thoughtful…"

"I have my moments," she says, raising up her chin in a haughty way. "Though my mother would obviously disagree."

"Ah, parental disappointment, I know it well." Again, Regina laughs out and another smile stretches across his lips. "You know," he begins, drawing up his legs and resting his arms over them. "I was thinking… there might be a way to get them to stop with this baby nonsense… at least for a little while."

"I'm listening…"

"Well," he says, drawing in a short breath. "We just need to make them think that we're… well… working on it." Her eyebrows arch and he feels his breath lodge in his chest, and he wonders if he's crossed a line. "I just mean…"

"And how exactly would we do that?" She asks, her eyebrow arching as she looks to him. "I'm quite familiar with the notion of letting my mother think I'm playing along with… whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing, but…" Her voice trails off and her eyes fall away from his. "I'm not entirely sure how to… um… well… fake that."

"By starting a rumor…"

"Again, I'm familiar with the notion…"

"Say a member of the staff were to… walk in on us…"

"Walk in on us," Regina repeats slowly. "As in… in bed together?"

"Of course we wouldn't have actually done anything," he's quick to clarify. "But… yes, that's the idea." Regina leans back on her elbows and her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he's sure that he's crossed a line. He can easily remember their night at the Blanchards and how uncomfortable she'd been, how stiff she'd been as they were led to the same room–and then, the memory of their wedding night and her teary, terrified eyes was burned into his memory. "This was a bad idea," he murmurs. "I blame the wine. I hope you'll accept…"

"No," she says, her eyes shifting up to his. "It's not a bad idea at all." Slowly a grin tugs onto her lips and she nods. "I can leave a note for Belle, asking her to send up a scullery maid to add more wood to the fire in my room…"

"And she'd send a maid? She wouldn't do it herself?"

"Not if I phrase it right…"

"So, you really… want to…" His voice trails off as he feels his palms grow sweaty, reminding himself that nothing would happen between them and there was no need for nerves. "I'll change and then… come in."

"Sounds like a plan," Regina says, smiling as she hoists up her bottle of wine and tips it upward to empty its remains into her mouth–and once more he has to remind himself that nothing is meant to happen, and their night in bed together will be perfectly chaste.

It's something he tells himself again and again from the time they part ways until the time he's knocking lightly at her bedroom door. She calls him in and he's suddenly very aware of just how thin his linen nightshirt is. He offers her an awkward smile as he closes the door behind himself, then steps into the dimly lit room–and then, for a brief moment, he finds himself rooted in place and glad for the darkness.

Regina's already in bed with her hair pinned up and wearing a cream colored silk shoulders are back and she looks so relaxed–so unlike the last time they shared a bed–and he swallows hard as he notices the first few buttons of the gown aren't fastened, giving him a glimpse of her chest and collarbone.

"You know, this isn't going to work if the scullery maid comes in and finds you all the way over there."

"Right," he murmurs, forcing himself forward. "That's… absolutely right."

"You seem nervous," she says as she pulls back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. "Are you?"

"Honestly? A little…"

He watches as a coy grin pulls onto her lips. "You shouldn't be…"

"Well, the last time this happened," he begins, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pushing his feet beneath the blankets. "I was quite… um… affected."

He glances over at her and watches as her cheeks flush. "I… know." His eyes wide as a soft giggle escapes her, and he's not sure that he could be any more embarrassed–not only for what he admitted, but for her acknowledgement of it. "Still, you were a perfect gentleman that night… and you forget, I was a married woman…" And this time, it's her voice that trails off as her cheeks flush deeper. "I just mean…"

"I get it," he cuts in. "I know."

She turns her head on the pillow and sighs a little before rolling onto her side and tucking her hand beneath her cheek–a for a split second, everything about their interaction seems to normal, natural even.

"I missed this," she admits in a soft voice. "Having… someone next to me." He feels his shoulder relax as he slides down against the sheets, and it occurs to him how comfortable she seems, and somehow, that's a comfort. He grins a little and burrows back against the pillows, reminding himself that she's had a lot to drink, that this could all be a facade.

"I've never been a good sleeper and after I was married it was… nice, you know, to have someone to talk to until I fell asleep, someone there when I inevitably woke up, someone who'd…" Her voice trails off and her cheeks flush. "Well, you get the idea."

"Finish what you were going say…"

"Oh," she murmurs, rolling her eyes and scoffing at herself. "I just… I've always had nightmares. I don't really remember them, but I'll wake up with this sinking feeling in my stomach and my heart racing, and…" She sighs as a smile draws onto her lips. "It was nice to… have someone to… cuddle up to, to make me feel like I wasn't alone, someone who'd… protect me from… whatever." She shrugs as her eyes meet his. "I just felt safer having him beside me."

Robin nods and he feels a stirring in his chest. His eyes narrow a little, and before he can think better of it, he grins. "I realize I'm a poor substitute for the man you wish you were laying beside, but… perhaps, if you wanted… I…." His voice halts as her bottom lip catches between her teeth and her eyes fall away from him, and she offers him a little nod. "I mean, it'd be good for appearances and…."

"Yes," she cuts in. "For appearances."

He holds his breath as she slides closer–tentatively, yet swiftly–and he swallows hard, saying a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening that she can't hear or feel the way she heart beats wildly in his chest. Tucking her head against his shoulder, she sighs contently, and grin pulls onto his lips as his arms fold around her. She's warm and soft, and smells of apples and wine, and he catches himself thinking that this is something he could get used to. Leaning over, he blows out the bedside candle and readjusts himself to make them both a little more comfortable and as he closes his eyes, he hopes she won't regret this in the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

Robin can't help but smile as Regina's arm threads through his, letting him lead her down a stretch of overgrown path. The boys long ago ran ahead, skipping and laughing, eager to get to the pond for a morning swim. The summer had reached that particularly sticky point that made staying indoors unbearable; and though the boys' afternoon was filled with music and painting lessons and some time in the stables, the morning was wide open and neither he nor Regina saw any reason they shouldn't enjoy a little unstructured time when they could be free to yell and run, and do as they pleased. **  
**

It'd been Henry's idea to go to the pond, and Roland quickly echoed his brother's sentiments, then much to Celeste's dismay, it'd been decided. Robin kept a watchful eye on her, watching the way she bristled as Regina dressed the boys. In lieu of proper swimwear, she dressed them both in night shirts and old breeches that wouldn't matter if they tore or stained.

In some ways, their little day trip was a last strike at freedom, one last chance to enjoy time together without his father's disapproving commentary and critical glare; and in some ways, it was a last little glimmer of a life they could have had under different circumstances, a life they might one day have.

"You know, should there ever be another time we decide to start a rumor about ourselves among the staff, we'll need to give Belle a heads up, I think." A carefree little laugh rises into her voice as she looks up at him. "The poor girl looked like she'd walked into some sort of…" Her cheek flush slightly and she shakes her head, looking back toward the wildflower lined path. "Well, I don't know, exactly, but she looked horrified."

"I don't think she's as prudish as that."

"No," Regina agrees. "But it was rather unexpected for her, walking us and seeing us together like that. Especially after I've spent months sleeping in that room alone, she's gotten used to that."

"Finding a married couple sharing a bed isn't exactly the scandal of the century."

"But to find the particular married couple that she found–a couple who has spent months rejecting any notion of the possibility of romance–was quite a shock to her system."

Clearing his throat, he forces out a little laugh, nodding as his stomach flutters. "It worked though."

"It appears it did."

"It was one of the first things John said to me as he was helping me dress, and he usually stays away from the gossip in the house. So, for him to have heard…"

"Means that it's really spread."

"And will get to my father pretty quickly." Regina sighs, and for a moment, it seems like disappointment. "That… is what we wanted, isn't it?"

For a moment, she doesn't say anything and he can't help but wonder if she has regrets. Though nothing actually happened between them the night before, it was a decision fueled by wine. Though she'd readily agreed then, he wonders if she's second-guessing it now. A little guilt bubbles up inside of him and he takes a breath before looking down at her. "You… wish we hadn't started this."

"No," she says, almost too quickly to be believable. "It was… nice having someone next to me, not feeling so alone." Her cheeks flush and she looks away, shaking her head as she stares toward the pond. "It's just… no matter where I go or what I do, no matter how respectable or good my intentions are, I always seem to find myself at the center of some sort of gossip."

"I can tell him the tr–"

"No," she cuts it. "If this will take some of the pressure off of us to have a child, then it'll be worth a few giggling house maids and footmen."

He sighs and nods, tightening his arm around hers and pulling her just a little closer, not sure that he believes her. Nonetheless, she smiles as she pulls away, hiking her skirt up over her ankles as they reach the pond. She knots it quickly as she slips off her shoes, reaching for the boys' hands she leads them to the edge of the water. It takes only a moment before the boys are stomping and kicking water at each other–and he feels his breath catch in his throat as they splash Regina and her laugh rings out.

"Aren't you going to join us?" She calls, looking back at him and waving as a smile draws onto her lips. "The water's perfect." He nods as she settles back on the grass, her feet skimming the water. He sits down beside her and tugs off his shoes, breathing out a contented sigh as his toes dip into the cool water. For a while, they just sit there, watching the boys splash and float–and every time he catches a glimpse of her smile or hears her laugh at the boys' antics, all he can think is how much he doesn't want the morning to end.

He takes a breath and clears his throat. "So, um… what do you have planned for the rest of your day?"

"Oh," she breathes out. "I've got a rousing in front of me." She laughs and shakes her head. "I plan to spend most of it avoiding your father and hoping my mother doesn't come for tea. I'll probably listen in on the boys' music lessons and… get myself into trouble by following them down to the stables for their riding lessons." She pauses for a moment. "My mother thinks I should help with the church bazaar, so I could always… write a letter inquiring about that… I suppose…"

"Help with the church bazaar," he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he looks over at her. "Is that something you want to do."

"Not particularly," she says. "It's nothing against the bazaar, it's just… the social aspect." She shrugs as she looks back to the boys. "I'm not sure I'd be wanted."

He nods, and for the life of him, he can't think of anything clever to say. Sentiments like _it's their loss_ or t _hey don't know what they're missing out on_ seem to fall short and he knows it all goes far deeper than personality clashes or lack of common interest–and he hates how isolated she feels.

"Well, you could… do all of those things," he begins as his stomach flutters with anticipation. "Or, you could come into the town with me."

Her brows arch. "You're going into town?"

He nods. "I've some business to take care of and I wanted have a coat re-tailored."

"Isn't that your valets job?"

He shrugs, fully aware that it is. "I'm particular about these sorts of things."

"Are you?" She asks, chuckling softly as her brow arches. "And what am I supposed to do while you're tending to those matters?"

"Well," he begins. "You could keep me company, for starters. I want to check in on some of our tenants and I'd like to present a united front. Once the estate is officially mine, I'd like you to be a part of it and help me run it."

"That's…"

"No church bazaar, I know."

"Unprecedented," she says. "I don't know any women who have such a role in their husband's estates."

"Well, you aren't just any woman," he says as a grin pulls onto his lips. "You don't have to, I just–"

"No," she cuts in, her cheeks flushing. "I'd like to, actually. It sounds… _interesting_ , and I'm not used to having interesting things to do."

He feels a little thrill run down his spine as a smile edges onto his lips. "And while we're in town, I figured we could do luncheon somewhere and while I'm having my coat altered, perhaps you could… be fitted for a new dress or a hat or… something."

"Or something," she repeats, a soft giggle rises into her voice. "You spoil me."

"Is that a yes?" He asks, trying not to sound too expectant or too hopeful–and when she laughs again and shakes her head, he knows that he's failed. "Please say that it is." Again, she hesitates, looking back at the boys, watching as they spin themselves around and fall dizzily back into the water. "I mean, a whole day in town, who knows what sort of adventures we'll have, our afternoon is a blank slate."

"What?" She asks, turning sharply to face him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "What did you just say?"

He swallows, not quite sure. "Uh, just that… we could have an adventure, if we choose…" He shakes his head and feels him stomach drop. "I hope I didn't upset–"

"No," she cuts in. "No, you didn't upset me." A lopsided grin edges onto her lips and her cheeks flush. "It's just… Daniel used to say something similar whenever he was trying to convince me to do something." An amused little scoff escapes her and for a moment he can see her caught up in nostalgia. "Alright," she says after a moment. "I think a day in town would be… lovely."

"I wholeheartedly agree," he murmurs, leaning back onto his elbows, basking in his victory and thinking up ways to entertain her for the coming afternoon.

After visiting all of the tenancies on Robin's list, they walk through the town and she's taken aback at how much it's grown since she left it. Her family's estate was only a few miles away from it and as a girl she'd frequently accompanied the housekeeper on weekly errands. Even then, the town seemed so small and unimpressive and as she grew older, she returned to it less and less, until finally she left it; and then, when she'd unceremoniously returned to it a few years later, she hadn't bothered with the town, preferring to stay tucked away at her family's estate. Part of her had imagined day trips, anything to get away from her mother's hard eyes and critical tongue, but she feared she'd find much of the same in town and had stayed away.

But that afternoon, she'd been pleasantly surprised; and though she was willing to wager it had far more to do with Robin's good nature and position in the community than it had to do with her, it was a nice change to be greeted warmly and without an air of precedence.

"There's a public house just around the corner," Robin says as his hand touches to the small of her back. "I generally have lunch there when I'm in town. I think you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will," she replies, nodding easily as they round the corner and a grin pulls onto her lips. "And just think what my mother would say if she knew her daughter was having luncheon at a pub."

Robin turns to look at her. "You don't think she'd approve?"

"Oh, no," she's quick to say. "The only thing worse would be me living in one and… well…" A chuckle rises into her voice as she remembers the indignation that flushed her mother's face when they discovered her serving ale to rowdy men at the Daniel's cousin's tavern. "Well, suffice to say she made her opinion clear that pubs are no place for ladies."

"And you… don't share that sentiment?"

"There are few sentiments I share with my mother, and," she shrugs her shoulder, "I'm not a lady."

"Perhaps not in title," Robin says–and she wonders if she's insulted him.

Though his family's estate owned most of the land that made up the little town and the farms that bordered it, and though the Locksley's had tremendous amount of wealth, their family was not a titled one. She can still remember the haughty way her mother described them when she was young, turning down her nose and failing to understand that what the Locksleys lacked in title and prestige, they made up for in wealth–and wealth was the thing that would move them forward in the world, title be damned, and in an ironic turn, it'd been their wealth that had allowed her family to retain any status in the community once their wealth was lost.

"I didn't mean for that to be an insult," she tells him, her voice sincere as she touches her fingers to his hand. "I just meant that I've never much cared to conform to the social norms my mother holds so dear."

He grins easily and nods, turning his hand over and folding his fingers around hers. "I didn't take it as an insult. I just wish you wouldn't sell yourself short." He gives her hand a little squeeze and she feels her heart start to beat a little faster. "In a day that's not too far off into the future, you're going to be the Lady of the House–title or not–and in some ways, you already are."

"By default, as I'm the only woman who lives in the house." She pauses for a moment. "Well, the only one not on staff."

"No," he says, shaking his head as his thumb rubs at her wrist. "You were brilliant today. You paid attention to these people and you asked them good questions, meaningful ones. You tried to connect with them and you made them feel important." He shrugs, "So often these sorts of visits feel more like an interrogation, but it wasn't like that this time."

"I was only…"

"Acting like a Great Lady of the county… as you are."

He offers her a quick wink as he pulls open the pub's door and his hand guides her back as she steps inside, looking around at the dark decor. The walls are a deep red and the bar is made of a cherry wood, contrasted by brassy fixtures and rows of glasses above. The bartender nods to a table by an open window and smile as the cool leather back of the chair slides against dress–and the pub seems a perfect escape from the hot summer sun.

"This is nice…"

Robin nods. "I can't tell you how many afternoons I spent here before you moved into the house."

"Avoiding your father."

"Absolutely." He laughs a little as eyes pass her. "If the waiter comes 'round, would you order me a house ale? If you'll excuse me, I need to make a trip to the washroom." She nods as he takes a couple of steps away from their table before turning back with a grin."Oh, I should mention, they have a cider here that I think you'd enjoy. The apples for it come from your family's orchard."

Settling back, she feels a smile tug up at the corners of her mouth and her stomach flutters. She picks up a little slip of paper from the table and she runs her finger along the edge, pretending to read over the small menu as he fills her thoughts. She lets out a breath as she thinks of his thumb rubbing absently at her wrist and the sweet sincerity of his grin, and for a moment, she lets herself imagine building a life–a real life with him–at Sherwood.

"Regina Mills," says a familiar voice that snaps her back into the present moment. "Why am I not surprised to find you sitting alone and unchaperoned in a pub."

"I don't need a chaperone," Regina returns flatly as her eyes meet Zelena's,. "Thank you for your concern though." A tight grin edges onto her lips. "You've always been so good about looking after me."

Zelena sighs as a snide smile tugs onto her lips and she adjusts the shopping bag on her arm, shifting a bit uncomfortably on the sidewalk in front of the pub. "I've only ever had your best interests at heart, darling."

"Well, I assure you, I am perfectly alright." Taking a breath, she looks behind her. "And I'm not alone actually. Robin's just in the washroom."

"Oh… how lovely, a romantic little luncheon away."

"Quaint, isn't it?" She watches as Zelena's shoulders draw back and her jaw tenses, and she can tell the notion of Regina happily married to Robin Locksley needles at her. "Such a lovely afternoon for it."

"Yes, so very lovely," Zelena says, tipping up her chip and offering a haughty scoff. "Your life has certainly… worked itself out, hasn't it? Was there really ever any doubt though?"

Regina blinks. She'll never understand how they got to this point–how the woman who'd once been her best friend could look at her with such hard, judgmental eyes. She easily remembers their days as debutantes, their heads dizzy with champagne as they danced together and giggled about boys. Zelena had been the first person she'd told about Daniel–from the first recognition feelings to their first kiss to their first time together in the loft above the stables; Zelena accompanied her and her parents to Bavaria and it was her shoulder she cried on when she learned she'd be engaged to the prince. It was to Zelena she'd first confessed her pregnancy and it'd been Zelena who'd first made her think that perhaps she and Daniel could build a life together, after all.

And then something had changed–and for the life of her, she'd never been able to figure out what it was.

"Zelena," she begins, her voice soffer as she turns herself toward the open window. "I'm sorry that you–"

"I should be on my way," Zelena cuts in. "Not everyone has the luxury of a wealthy husband to care for them."

Her lips part to respond, but for the life of her, she doesn't know what to say and even if she could figure it out, the message would fall on deaf ears. Whatever she'd said or done to upset Zelena, she'd never know, but it's done now and in the past, and there was no going back.

With a disappointed sigh, she falls back against the chair, staring blankly out the window as she remembers the first night back from Bavaria, and the party her mother threw to celebrate her engagement to the prince. She remembers stepping into the ballroom, watching as Zelena and another girl they'd been friends with giggled and she remembers the sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach, when she realized Zelena had shared her secret and everyone in the room knew she was pregnant with the stable boy's child. She remembers how heavy her ring felt and how tears had brimmed in her eyes when her mother called her to the center of the room to give a toast and loud whispers that swept through the room–and she remembers satisfied grin that had edged onto Zelena's lips as her mother turned to look at her.

"Did you order?"

"Hm?"

Robin blinks. "Did the waiter come by?"

"Oh," she breathes out. "No… no, he didn't."

"Who were you talking to?"

"Hm?"

"Just now," Robin says as he slides into the chair across from her. "When I was coming back from the washroom, it looked like you were talking to someone."

"Oh," she murmurs. "Um, Zelena, actually, was walking by and… stopped."

"The redhead," Robin says, his eyes narrowing as he tries to remember her. "You… pointed her out to me at the Blanchards." Regina nods. "You know, since then, I've been trying to figure out where I knew her from…"

Regina blinks. "Well, we all grew up in the same county…"

Robin nods. "Yes, but… I think… I think she was engaged for a while to Jefferson Hatfield."

Suddenly, her mouth goes dry as she looks sharply to him. "Zelena was engaged to Jefferson Hatfield? When?" Swallowing hard, she shakes her head. "I… I didn't know that."

Robin nods. "It didn't last very long."

"Oh…"

For a moment, his eyes stay fixed on her–and for an all too brief moment, she wonders if he knows. Feeling her cheeks flush a little, she swallows again, taking a long breath, telling herself that if he knew about her past with Jefferson Hatfield, he'd have said something by now–and likely, wouldn't have married her in the first place.

"It's a shame," Robin says with a shrug of his shoulders, not seeming to notice the change in her demeanor. "They were well-suited for one another–catty and manipulative."

"Do you–or did you–know Jefferson very well, at that time."

"Not especially," Robin replies with a shrug. "We played cards and billiards sometimes, but we were never overly friendly." He hesitates for a moment, staring her straight in the eye and she feels warmth rising up the back of her neck as her stomach flops. "I highly doubt I'll be earning any more invitations though," he says. "The last time he had me over, I might have knocked out a few of his teeth." He sighs, "Bruised my hand up pretty bad, too."

Her brow arches. "Oh, that's…"

"No loss," he says easily, smiling as he reaches across the table and gives her hand a light squeeze. "And since then I've found myself keeping much better company."

She can't help but grin as his eyes meet hers, his cheeks flushing slightly, and she's not sure what it is, but she finds herself relaxing under his touch, comforted for reasons she doesn't quite understand.

Settling back, she pushes away thoughts of Zelena and Jefferson, and those complicated histories. They fall into a comfortable conversation about the estate and its properties, the farms, their tenants and the crops they grow. Some, she's familiar with–properties that had once belonged to her family that were slowly lost to the Locksleys over the years–and others have simply served as a backdrop to the world she'd grown up in. But this is different and she's surprised by her interest in it all–surprised at the notion of having some sense of real purpose.

"You know," he begins, pressing his napkin to the corners of his mouth. "There is another property that I think would be of interest to you." He clears his throat, smiling at her show of interest. "There's a hunting lodge up north. My grandfather was fond of it, my father not so much. I haven't been there since I was about fourteen, but it's still being maintained by a butler and housekeeper."

"Oh," she murmurs, shaking her head. "What a dull life they must live."

Robin chuckles softly as he nods. "Yes, I'd imagine so. Perhaps we should give them something to do. I'd imagine two little boys could really stir things up."

Her lip catches between her teeth. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that it might be nice for the four of us to… take a little holiday and see if, perhaps, the hunting lodge might see a new day."

"A new day…"

"New adventures, if you will." She nods, unable to keep her thoughts from wandering and wondering about what it'd be like to have place to get away to, a place where she and Robin could take the boys and simply be, a place away from the expectations on them, a place where it could be just the four of them as it had been the night before. "You like the idea."

"I do," she says, her eyes meeting his. "I like it a great deal."

"Wonderful," he says, settling back in his chair and looking quite satisfied with himself for coming up with the idea. "I'll send an inquiry in the morning and see what can be arranged."

Reaching for her drink, she nods. "I look forward to it."

After their luncheon, Robin heads reluctantly to the tailor with a waistcoat over his arm. She smiles a little as she watches him go and finds herself wondering if the story about the alterations was nothing more than a ruse to entice her into spending an afternoon with him in town–and she's caught off guard when she finds herself hoping that he had.

Heading down the narrow street, her eyes linger on the displays in the shop windows–looking at advertisements and goods setup for view. Most of the items are practical things that would be necessary and appealing to those who lived in the little town and surrounding farms, not meant to appeal to someone like her.

But they remind of her not-so-distant past, reminding her of the mornings she and Henry would wander through another little town, looking in windows as things they couldn't afford. But affording things hadn't been the point. She'd point to signs and ask Henry to tell her about them– _how much is that?_ Or _what do you think that's used for?_ –and her chest would swell with pride when Henry would answer correctly or start to spin a story, one that would keep going long after they'd left the storefront.

Regina lingers at the bakery, starring in and remembering the way Henry used to press his fingers to the window, watching as the baker stacked loaves of bread onto shelves and arranged pies in glass cases at the front of the counter; and she remembers those Saturday mornings that the baker's father came into the shop to help. He always took notice of Henry, grinning as he plucked a cookie or a roll from the case and wrapping it in parchment as he waved them in. Henry's eyes would grow wide and he practically bounced with excitement as the old man bent to hand him whatever treat he'd selected–and each and every time she'd tried to pay for it, it was refused. She never knew why he chose to be so kind–she assumed it was just his nature–but she'd always been grateful for his generosity and humanity.

A smile draws onto her lips as she opens the baker's door, and after a few minutes, she settles on a sack of gingersnaps for the boys. She pays the baker and tucks the sack of cookies into her bag, and carries on through town, still lost in her memories.

She passes by a display of sensibly durable men's shirts and another of wooden hairbrushes and inexpensive toiletries; another window at a General Store bears cooking pans she'd once have been envious of and feed for livestock in another. She lingers there for a moment, starting in through the window, quickly spotting a spool of French blue calico fabric. She feels an odd stirring in her chest as she looks at it, noting the little yellow dots splashed across the blue. When she was a girl, she'd had a wardrobe filled with colorful dresses for different occasions, and she remembers how she hated standing on tall platforms as seamstresses and maids draped fabric over her and poked at her with pins–and just as vividly, she can remember staring at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes tearing up as she looked at the frayed hem of her better dress, wishing she could afford the luxury of a new calico dress.

Taking a breath, she pushes the thoughts away and presses on down the road; and despite her best efforts, she finds herself wondering if she and Daniel would have made it, wondering if their differences would have been too much. They hadn't had choices when they'd ran away together and they'd been so, so young–young and full of ideas. The future seemed a long time off, something distant and something they could worry about later; then, it'd been all about that moment and making the best of it. Yet now, she wonders if that would have been enough, if that would have lasted; and, she wonders, if the hardships of the life they'd carved out for themselves would have been too much of a burden in the long run. And though she doesn't like to linger on the thought of it, she wonders if their love would have dulled, if she'd have lived a life of regrets and missed chances.

She continues on, shifting her thoughts to the life she has with Robin–how oddly well-suited they are, how thoughtful and caring he is, how slowly but surely she's finding herself increasingly comfortable with him, free to be herself without apology and without judgement. Though it'd been a slow progression over the course of the last few months, these last few days have confirmed for her so much of what she wondered and she'd felt a certain purpose and freedom that she'd never quite felt before–that she'd have never felt had it not been for him. They still had a long way to go and there was still so much to learn about one another, but there was a growing optimism within her and she was no longer skeptical of him–and she hoped he wouldn't come to regret his decision to take a chance on her and marry her. With him, there weren't expectations or obligations she needed to meet, she didn't feel like she was merely tagging along and out of place, and she felt like a person rather than some unfortunate character in a novel. For the first time, she felt comfortable in her own skin and for the first time, the uncertainty that was the future seemed brighter.

She rounds the corner toward the dressmaker, a soft smile edging onto her lips as she thinks about the dress Robin had arranged for her to have made for her for Mary Margaret Blanchard's soiree. She thinks about how good the silky fabric felt on her skin and how fun it'd been to pick out the colorful glass beads that would be embroidered to the ribbons that criss-crossed over the front–and she thinks about how nice it'd been to indulge a little without being reminded of frivolous it was, how nice it'd been to have something that was just hers.

Stopping for a moment, she finds herself standing in front of a jeweler's shop, just a few buildings down from the dressmaker. She lets her eyes linger at the small window display–a pair of gold earrings and pearl hair comb are at the center, and then her eyes fall to a small pair of cufflinks off to the side. She leans in a little, smiling instantly as she notices the little lions stamped into them that bear a striking resemblance to the tattoo on Robin's forearm. Her lip catches between her teeth as she looks up at the storefront–and before she can talk herself out of it, she pushes herself into the shop as thoughts of his happy smile consume her.

Robin lets out a silent sigh as he looks up, his eyes meeting Regina's across the table as his father pushes his fork into a piece of salmon and scoffs. For nearly two days, they've lived without his constant complaints–and it'd been a lovely little vacation into the future. He'd tried to prolong it for as long as possible, fabricating a need to spend the day in town, away from the estate. After spending a morning with the boys, they'd set off for an afternoon in town. They'd driven through the countryside, taking the longer routes as he pointed out farms along the way. They stopped in at a few of the tenancies and though he hadn't much business to discuss with any other them, it was nice to check in and even nicer to watch his wife engage with them.

He was so impressed by her–the questions she asked and the way she listened to their stories, seemingly to take an actual interest in the type of feed used for the cows at one farm and a new, larger chicken coop at another. She had a surprisingly extensive knowledge of farming–likely a result of the time spent with Daniel–and a humanity that seemed to catch everyone off-guard. And somewhere between visits, he found himself thinking that even if she never came to love him and even if their marriage could never be more than it was, she could at least be happy in the life they had together and that it could be a fulfilling partnership, if nothing else.

"You weren't here when I arrived," his father says as he inspects a green bean from his plate. "I thought you would be."

"I had business to attend to in town."

"Business," he repeats. "And you… took your _wife_."

"Yes," Robin nods, his eyes once more meeting Regina's. "The estate is half hers. I figured she'd like to know a thing or two about how it's run."

"Ex-excuse me?" He watches as his father's eyes widen and his skin flushes with annoyance. "What complete and utter nonsense. The estates– _my estate_ –is not half _hers_!"

Regina's lip catches between her teeth and it looks like she's struggling not to laugh at his father's blustering. "I wholeheartedly disagree," Robin says, his eyes remaining on her instead of his father. "And we're lucky, she's got quite a knack for this sort of thing. I think we'll do well together."

"Yes," his father scoffs. "And from what I hear, that's not _all_ you'll be doing together." Regina's eyes widen a little and this time, it's his turn to fight against the urge to laugh. "Very well," he says, shoving his plate back as he rises from the table and looks between them. "I'm going to bed. My stomach feels unsettled. The bread was stale and the beans were too salty and… the company leaves something to be desired." The old man offers an agitated sigh as he looks between them. "But at least I can rest knowing that you two have finally gotten over yourselves and are doing your duty to the estate, providing it another son."

Robin's brow furrows as she father walks out, leaving a footman to clear his space.

"So, not only am I to give the _estate_ a child, I'm suppose to ensure that it's a son." Robin's eyes roll and Regina laughs, shaking her head as she pushes her fork back and forth through the remnants of her dinner. "At least he's gone up for the night."

"Thank goodness for small favors," Robin adds, sighing a bit. "It was certainly nice having him out of the house for awhile."

"It was."

"I meant what I said about the hunting lodge. I plan to send an inquiry in the morning."

A smile twists onto her lips. "And I meant what I said. I look forward to it."

He nods and reaches for his wine, taking a sip, unable not to notice her good mood, despite his father's blustering. "So, you never told me," be begins as he sets his glass back on the table. "Did you make it to the dressmaker?"

"Oh," she nods. "I did."

"And you… found something you liked?"

He watches as a smile tugs onto her lips–she looks happy, he thinks, and not just happy for the moment. "I did, it'll be nice for summer." She tears off a piece of her roll and bites into her, her smile deepening. "It's a… French blue fabric with white piping and a… yellow and white sash." She nods and bites into the roll again. "I have to go in for a fitting later this week and then it'll be another week or so before it's ready."

"We can make a day of it."

"Again?"

He nods. "Well, we had such fun today…"

"Yes," she says, as her lip catches between her teeth. "We did."

"And it sounds like the dress will be ready long before the church bazaar." He watches her eyes move up to meet his, her chin tipping to the side, clearly not following. "I'm not saying that you should volunteer, like your mother wants you to do," he says. "But, I think we should go… we'll take the boys. It'll be a nice day for us all."

"Oh, I…"

"Don't say no," he cuts in. "Just… think about it?" She nods, her eyes casting down to her plate, pushing a bean around with her fork. "Are you done?" He asks, a chuckle rising into his voice as she nods. "Because if you are, I was thinking we could play cards for a bit."

"Cards… that sounds fun… as long as you're to teach me how to play."

"I am" he says easily, "I've a feeling you'd really enjoy poker."

Her head tips to the side. "Isn't that a gentleman's game?"

"So what if it is…" He says, shrugging his shoulders as he a grin edges onto his lips. "Besides, something tells me that I'll enjoy it more with you anyway."

Something flickers in her eyes and her cheeks flush faintly as she nods, and he feels his stomach flutter. He offers her his arm as they walk to the drawing room and he can feel her watching as he fishes a deck of cards from the cabinet.

"Before we start," she says in a tentative voice as her hand slips into her pocket. "I… have something for you."

"Do you?" He asks, his brow arching in surprise as she nods, smiling in a way that's both sweet and shy. "You didn't–"

"I did, though," she cuts in. "You've been… so kind and patient and thoughtful toward me and Henry and… you've really worked hard to make us feel at home here." She shrugs as she pulls a little red box from her pocket. "And I wanted to give you something as a token of my appreciation."

He stares curiously at the little red, satin box in her hand, then slowly looks to her as he tucks the deck of cards into his pocket. "You don't need to thank me for–"

"I do," she insists again. "And, I couldn't pass them up, even if I wanted to it."

He blinks, slowly reaching for the box–and his breath catches in his chest when he opens it to find a pair of cufflinks stamped with the same lion that was tattooed on his arm. "Regina…"

"I told you… I couldn't pass them up."

"Where did you find these?" He asks, his finger tracing the edge of one of the cufflinks. "It's exactly…"

"I know," she murmurs. "They were in the window at a jeweler's shop in town and when I saw them, I knew they were meant to be yours."

"I love them," he tells her, his smile deepening as he nods–and then, without thinking, he leans in and closes the gap between them. His lips press to her, sucking gently at her bottom lip as his hand slides up over her jaw, his fingers tangling into her hair. He draws her closer, kissing her harder as her lips part. His tongue sweeps between her lips and she sighs a little as her hand comes up around his back, as if to hold him in place–and then he feels her tongue, tentatively sliding against his bottom lip.

The kiss is soft and tender, tentative and slow–and his head dizzy when she steps back, her cheeks immediately flushing red.

"I… I'm glad that you… like them," she says, her eyes falling from his.

"I do," he says, swallowing hard as he tries to compose himself. "Regina, I, uh, I'm sorry. I just…"

"No," she cuts in. "Please don't do that. Please don't apologize."

He nods as he takes a breath. "Yes, but…" And then he stops, suddenly remembering that she kissed him back–and again his cheeks flush. "So, um… cards," he says. "We were going to play cards." She blinks and for a moment, he wonders if she heard him. "I was going to teach you to, uh… play poker."

"Right…" She says, finally looking back at him as she smooths her hands against her skirt. "That's right."

He nods, suddenly remembering the deck of cards in his pocket. "We'll need these," he says, clearing his throat as he reaches for the deck. "Can't play without them." She giggles a bit uncomfortably and nods as he motions to a table between two chairs. "Shall we?"

She nods again and he feels his heart flutter–he kissed her and she didn't pull away, he kissed her and she didn't immediately retreat, he kissed her and she kissed him back–and a smile edges onto his his lips as he reminds himself not to get too caught up in what any of it means.


	10. Chapter 10

Through the mirror, Regina watches the boys playing on her bed as Belle fastens the back of her dress, slowly working her way up her back as she twists the tiny buttons into place.

It's taken her a long time to get used to allowing a maid to dress her–used to having someone hand's on her, pushing and prodding at her, and giving up a sort of autonomy that she'd become used to. But Belle was easy to get along with–she was quiet and good natured, and he was one of the few servants at Sherwood who didn't serve her begrudgingly. And in the months since she and Robin hired her, they'd built up quite a rapport and she'd become something of a confidant.

For a moment, she watches Roland's little hands push her jewelry into a heap at the center of her bed as Henry guides the little wooden dragon that Robin had given him toward it, making a soft whirring noise as his floats the dragon above the jewelry. They both giggle as the dragon lands atop his hoard–and she finds it impossible not to smile at them–and if there's anything positive that's come out of this arrangement, it's that Henry has a playmate–a friend and a brother–to help occupy his time and give him something of a normal childhood.

"Belle," she murmurs as she tears her eyes away, shifting them to her maid. "About the… other morning."

"I'm sorry?"

"Um, the morning that you came in to wake me and found…" Her voice trails off and she again glances to the boys, who seem completely unaware of her existence. "Well, when you found Robin in my bed," she says, in a hushed voice. "I realize that was uncomfortable for you."

"Oh," she breathes out, her eyes nervously falling to the back of Regina's dress as she focuses her attention on the buttons. "I don't know why it was such a shock. You're a married woman and…"

"But it's not like that between Robin and I," Regina cuts in. "Our marriage… it's not like that."

A grin edges onto her lips. "Yes, m'lady," she says with a nod as she pulls away from her. "Would you like to wear the black gloves or the cream ones?" Belle turns to the dressing table and plucks up one of each, and holds it out. "They'd both look fine with your dress."

"Yes, I suppose they would," Regina murmurs as she looks between them. "So, I suppose the only question is which would vex my mother more–black or cream." She sighs. "She'll find fault in one of them."

Belle's brow arches. "And you… want to vex her?"

"I'll have to do something to make this dinner less dull," Regina says, laughing a little as she shrugs. "And if she's going to be upset with me, I'd much rather it be over something trivial like wearing the wrong color gloves to dinner…. Than whatever she thinks up in the moment."

Belle nods as she looks down. "So, we've just to decide which is wrong…"

"Exactly."

"That's quite arbitrary."

"With my mother, it always is," Regina sighs as she looks between them again, then looks toward the bed. "Henry, which do you think I should wear? The black ones or the cream ones?"

Henry looks up sharply, craning his neck for a better look at the gloves as his expression grows serious. "I like the black ones."

"I would have to agree," Robin says, rasping his knuckles against the back of the door as he pops in his head. "They look elegant… and, assuming that your goal truly is to get underneath your mother's skin, and assuming that your mother is an expert on all things proper, I think it's worth mentioning that she just arrived sporting a pair of _white_ gloves."

"Black it is, then," Regina says, tapping her hand against the glove as Belle giggles softly. "So, does this mean you've come to collect me for dinner."

"We should go down soon and rescue your poor father from the miserable company of my father and your mother, but I am actually looking for two little boys who should be in the nursery getting ready for their dinner."

Regina's eyes slide to her bed where the boys are playing, and a grin pulls onto her lips as Roland's eyes widen. "But the dragon must guard his hoard!"

"Is nanny upset?" Henry asks. "When she gets upset with us she scowls and…" He sighs. "It's not very pleasant."

"No, dinner hasn't arrived yet, so she hasn't had reason to get upset just yet" Robin says. "And perhaps," he murmurs as he steps into the room. "We could lock up the room for dinner, so that no one comes in and steals the dragon's jewels."

"That could work," Henry decides.

Regina laughs. "Or, we could store them away, under lock and key in, in a box for safe keeping." She nods to a wooden box at the foot of her bed. "You know, like the one the one which the dragon found his hoard."

"That could work, too," Henry says with a sigh as he reaches for her jewelry box, scooping up the pile of tangled necklaces and bracelets. "Oh…"

Tugging on the second glove, Belle shakes her head. "I'll manage that," she tells Henry. "You two should go wash up for dinner. Don't give your nanny a reason to scowl."

The boys roll off of the bed and scurry out of the room while Belle retreats into the closet to untangle the jewelry–and through the mirror, Regina can't help but notice Robin's eyes on her, staring at her with an indescribable look that makes her stomach flutter.

"I was thinking," she begins, taking a breath as she turns to face him. "I'm going to go into town tomorrow with Belle. I want to make sure the neckline of the dress I ordered is where I want it to be."

"You're going into town," Robin says, brightening. "I could escort you."

"Oh, you don't have to–"

"I want to." He grins as he offers her his arm and with a reluctant sigh, she slips her arm around his. "I could take the boys. We could visit some of the shops while you're at the dressmaker, then we could rendezvous for a picnic in the park."

"And what about Belle?"

A grin pulls onto Robin's lips. "I'm sure she wouldn't complain about an afternoon off."

"That… does sound nice."

"Much nicer than anything I've got planned for the day."

"So, it's… a date then."

"It is."

Taking a breath, they walk out into the hall, slowly making their way downstairs to where her parents and his father are waiting in the drawing room. Regina feels her shoulders tense at the sound of her mother's voice scolding someone and Robin sighs as he looks to her, shaking his head.

"Oh, Regina, really? Black gloves?" Cora says too loudly as she clicks her tongue as the enter the room. "Honestly…"

"Let her alone, Cora," Henry sighs, already sounding exhausted. "For once, just let her be."

"I will not. Look at her. She looks like a trollop in mourning."

Regina's brow furrows as she looks to Robin, finding his eyes wide and his jaw lax. "Thank you, mother. That's… exactly the look I was hoping for."

Robin snickers as his father bristles. "Come on, then. Now that you two are here, we can get on with this."

"With any luck," Robin murmurs as his father rises, leading the rest out toward the dining room. "This will be over quickly."

"Do you think there will be any survivors?"

"Hopefully us."

A grin tugs up from the corner of her mouth. "I say we just let them tear each other apart."

"It'd be quite a show," Robin says, keeping his voice low as he nods in agreement. "And how lucky are we to have a front row seat."

At that, Cora turns sharply in their direction, her jaw tightening and her eyes narrowing as she stares at her daughter and son-in-law. Regina can't quite tell if she heard them, though she guesses not, and there's something about the glint in Cora's eye that says she didn't, because instead of disapproval there's something else that she can't quite decipher.

They all take a seat at table and the footmen begin to serve them–and for too long of a time, no one say anything. Turning her head as she accepts a cut of meat, Regina looks to Robin, her bows arching as a grin edges onto his lips. Across from her are her parents–her father looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world and her mother still glaring at her with that odd look, and at the head of the table is Richard, looking as if he were in physical pain.

"It's… so kind of you to have us here tonight," Henry says, clearing his throat and looking in the direction of Robin's father. "It's always a special treat when we can get 'round to see our daughter and grandson."

"Yes, I'd imagine," Richard replies dryly, not looking up as he's served a vegetable.

"Perhaps I can take you up to see the boys after dinner," Regina murmurs. "It'll be late, but I usually go up and read them a bedtime story after dinner."

A grin pulls onto her father's lips. "I'd like to see–"

"A story," Cora cuts in, her voice rising over her husband's as her tongue clicks with disapproval. "Regina, you're not serious. You're not their _nanny_."

"No," she replies as her jaw tense. "I'm their _mother_ and if _I_ choose to read them a bedtime story, I am well within my right."

"But, Regina, that's why you have–"

"I realize that it's not your style of parenting, mother," Regina cuts in, her voice shaking as heat rises up the back of her neck. Swallowing hard, she can see Robin's gaze from the corner of her eye and she can see a soft grin pulling onto his lips. "But way I choose to be a parent and the choices in that arena are off limits. You don't have to approve, but you don't get to criticize."

Cora's chin tips up as a footman offers her a dinner roll. "I just think that you should attempt to focus on… other arenas," she says. "Like cementing your place in society and… undoing some of the damage that's already been done."

"Well, I can agree there," Richard scoffs.

"Oh, but that's not necessary," Robin interjects, looking between them all. "She has her place, here with the estate."

"I hardly think…"

"Considering the estate's wealth is more than a third hers, I see no reason that in five years when estate becomes mine that she shouldn't help oversee it."

"You mean, she'll co-run the estate?" Henry asks, looking pointedly at Robin.

"Yes," Robin says easily as a smile pulls onto her father's lips and her mother's eyes narrow skeptically. "It only seems fair, and recently, I've discovered she's quite a knack for it."

"And when the estate is… well, passed along," Cora asks, making no attempt to hide her intention. "What happens then?"

"It'll pass on to the boys–to both Roland and Henry equally. My thought is that Roland would inherit Sherwood and half the money, and Henry would inherit your home and the other half of the money."

"Right down the middle…"

Robin nods, but before he can manage to find his voice, Cora's voice interjects. "And, in the case of _other_ children? What happens to the estate then?" Her brow arches as she looks pointedly at Regina. "There will be other children, won't there?"

Feeling her cheeks warm, she nods. "We're… trying."

"Are you?"

"They are, indeed," Richard supplies, sighing heavily as he looks between them. "Now, if we could shift the conversation to a topic less tacky than money and child rearing, I might actually be able to digest my dinner."

For several moments, no one says anything. Instead, they all just focus on their food, likely all wanting to make this dinner as short as possible. Beneath the table, Robin's hand falls over her thigh, and when she looks at him, she finds him grinning. He offers her a quick wink as he squeezes her leg in a way that's somehow comforting and reassuring, then withdraws his hand, clearing his throat as he inquires whether or not Cora and Henry will be attending the church bazaar in the coming week–and then the table shifts to charitable endeavors and investing in the community, and other duller topics that neither Cora or Richard can agree upon.

"You know," Henry begins, touching his fingertips to his daughter's arm, slowing her step as the others proceed into the drawing room after dinner. "I think I'd like to see the boy now."

"Well, there are two of them now," Regina murmurs, watching as Robin's head turns, suddenly aware that their part of five has dwindled to three. "You can't see one without the other."

"I'd like to see them," he says, glancing toward the stairs. "And I'd like a few minutes alone with you."

"Oh… alright, sure" she breathes out, nodding curtly as she tries to smile, remembering the last private conversation she had with her father and feeling a slight pang of guilt at her core as she remembers the way she spoke to him. "I'm sure Henry would like to see you," she says, as she takes a short breath and links her arm through his, turning them toward the stairs. "He misses you."

"And I miss him. The house is just so… quiet without him."

"Quiet? With mother living there?" She scoffs. "Somehow I doubt that's true."

"Well… it's a different kind of loud, then," he tells her as a chuckle rises into her voice. "But you know better than anyone I've learned to drown her out."

"I know," Regina replies quietly, feeling an uncomfortable fluttering at her stomach–something that feels like guilt and anger and regret all mixed up together and competing for her attention. "I remember…"

Henry sighs, and her eyes closes as she draws in a long breath, slowly releasing it and suddenly very aware that she's made a conscious choice not to see her father since her wedding to Robin. For the most part, it hasn't taken much effort on her part, he's stayed away. He didn't accompany Cora went she came for visits and he never came on his own or sent her a note to come up to the house only a few miles down the road. She knew that it wasn't simply to avoid her; likely, it was partially due to embarrassment–after all, it was his failed investments that led her to being practically sold off with select properties and some livestock.

But it was more than that, and she knew it.

She knew that he likely thought that _she_ didn't want to see _him_. And while that might have been the case at the very beginning, it wasn't the case any longer…

On the day of her wedding, she'd been inconsolable–and she'd taken it out on him.

Even then she knew it wasn't his fault–not really–but she need someone to take the blame for her being married off to a complete stranger. And he'd been the closest target. She'd begged and cried, protesting it's fairness and question how he could let this happen to her, how he could sell his only daughter and grandson to temporarily save face. He hadn't been able to look her in the eye that day, he'd only murmured a quiet _"He's a good man, give it a chance"_ as took her arm and the wedding march began to play.

"Daddy, about… what happened on my wedding day," she says, taking a breath as she looks over at him. "We haven't really talked since then and… I said things that…"

"No need to worry about it," he says as he tightens his arm around hers. "You had every right to say those things, to be unhappy with the turn your life had taken."

"Perhaps, but I was rather unkind."

"You were upset and you had every right to be."

"But that doesn't make it alright…"

"You can't help it," he says, a soft chuckle rising into his voice. "It's that Spanish blood you inherited from your father. It makes you fly off the handle and say things you don't mean."

A grin pulls onto her lips and she shakes her head. "I don't think I inherited my temper from _you_."

Henry nods and smiles gently. "Regardless, it's all water under the bridge now." Taking a breath, he looks to her. "So long as you're happy…" His voice trails off and his step slows, forcing her to stop and look at him. "I can forgive easily, Regina, but I can't forgive myself for letting this happen to you if… if…"

"I _am_ happy," she cuts in, as a little smile edges onto her lips at that realization. "Or at least, I think I can be." Taking a breath, she takes a step, leading him down the hall toward the nursery. "And you were right that day, daddy. Robin is a good man." She feels he cheeks flush as she looks down at her feet, her stomach fluttering as she thinks of him. "Even if we're never more than friends, I'll be happy with him." Henry smiles as Regina reaches for the door knob. "I'm less happy with the nanny though," she says, opening the door and pushing in.

"Mama!" Henry calls out as she steps into the nursery. "You're late."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she murmurs softly, looking between the boys, already in their nightshirts. "I told you dinner was going to be late though." Henry sighs and nods. "Do you remember how I told you grandma and grandpa were coming to dinner?" She waits for Henry to nod before letting herself grin. "Well, look who made a special trip upstairs to see you," she says in a nearly sing-song voice as she steps aside, and lets her father into the nursery. Henry's eyes widen and his smile lights up his face at the sight of his grandfather and she laughs a little as she scrambles out of his be, running to him for a hug.

Regina shuts the door and sits down on the end of Roland's bed, smiling warmly as he crawls across the bed and into her lap. She kisses his messy, curly hair as he snuggles against her, resting his head on her shoulder as Henry tells his grandfather about trips to the pond and the wooden dragon that Robin gave him. He tells him about how he and Roland like to play tag in the garden and sometimes they sword fight, and he tells him about his music and painting lessons, and how he and Roland likes to spend time in the stables, brushing the horses.

She sighs a little, still thinking about the fight she had with her father on her wedding day. Though his voice had been so quiet and his eyes had avoided hers, he'd seemed so sure that she'd find happiness at Sherwood–and happiness with Robin–and wondered how it was that he knew. Everything had seemed so uncertain then, and it seemed so unlikely that an arranged marriage that served the purpose of temporarily saving her parents' drowning estate would have been something done for her benefit. It was more likely than anything else, that it'd just been some serendipitous work of fate–but, still, she wondered…

"Knock, knock," Robin's voice calls as he opens the nursery door and quickly slips inside. "I just thought you should both know what a _riveting_ conversation you're missing downstairs." He blinks as he looks to Regina. "Your mother wasn't fond of the _white_ roses on the table," he sighs. "Because everyone knows roses on a dinner table should be _red_."

"Oh…"

"And of course, my father disagrees."

"I'm sure he does."

"Cora's not used to being challenged over her ridiculousness."

"Oh, she's getting a challenge now," Robin sighs. "I ducked out when she told my father the wine was too tart."

"Uh oh," Regina murmurs, laughing softly to herself as she suddenly recalls the evening they'd snuck down into the wine cellar and snagged a few bottles of a sweet wine that hadn't been up to his father's standards. "She's entering the danger zone…"

"From your lips…" Henry sighs, his voice halting as he scoops up his grandson and carries him back over to the bed. "It was lovely to see you, my boy," he whispers as he tucks him in. "Next time, we won't go so long between visits."

"Maybe I could bring him over one day, soon."

"I'd like that," her father says, his eyes meeting hers, as he bends to kiss his grandson's forehead.

"Me, too," Henry adds in a sleep voice. "Soon…"

"Of course," he agrees, pulling back and once more, eyeing his daughter. "Now, I should go save Richard from… Cora's delightful conversation."

"You don't have to," Robin scoffs. "We could just let them… tire themselves out."

"Oh, no, no, you don't want that," he's quick to respond. "You certainly don't want that," he sighs. "She might spend the night, and… nothing quite spoils a day like Cora, first thing in the morning." Regina grins as her father offers her a quick wink. "Thank you for having us. Despite your mother blustering and rudeness, it was a lovely evening. I enjoyed it immensely."

"Liar," Regina laughs.

"It's always an enjoyable evening when I get to see my lovely daughter and grandson," he says, winking once more as he departs–and from the opposite side of the door, they hear him sigh, likely preparing himself for the carriage ride home with Cora.

"Abandoning me like that was not very nice," Robin laughs, after a moment. "The two of them together are…"

"Too much?"

"That… seems an understatement," Robin sighs. "I'm not sure I've ever been so uncomfortable. I was afraid I'd breathe wrong and they'd both pounce."

She grins as she looks down at Roland, soundly sleeping against her. "How did you manage to slip away?"

"I feigned illness."

"Fienged," she laughs. "Sure."

"In the moment, i suppose it was very real," he says, slowly standing as he bends to pull Roland from her hold. "Which, your mother attributed to the chicken being so spicy."

"But it wasn't–" She stops, shaking her head as she watches Robin tuck in Roland and a soft yawn escapes her. "Nevermind. I'd momentarily forgotten things like facts and rationale don't quite apply in circumstances involving my mother."

"Nor my father."

"No…"

For a moment, Robin just stands there, watching her with soft eyes, and she finds herself wondering what he's thinking about. There was a glint of something she couldn't quite make out in his eyes and he looked like he wanted to say something, but his voice never supplied the words.

"It's getting late," she murmurs as she shifts herself away. "I should be getting to bed because I'm sure that Belle would like to do the same."

"Yes, likely," Robin says, as he follows her out of the nursery. "Especially having such a busy day ahead."

A grin pulls onto her lips as she thinks of what lays ahead of them. What started as a simple dress fitting–and a perhaps, a bit of match-making with her maid and her dressmaker's granddaughter–had turned into a whole day away from the house with Robin and the boys, and she couldn't deny that she wasn't looking forward to it. It was nice when it was just the four of them, she thinks of herself as they make their way down the long corridor to where their bedrooms are, and she wonders what the day will bring them–and no matter what it is, she's looking forward to it.

"Well, here we are," Robin murmurs quietly as they reach her bedroom door. "I suppose it's time to say goodnight."

"Oh, I suppose it is…"

For a moment, he lingers there and she makes no effort to turn into her room–and once more, she sees that glint of something in his eyes. And then, he leans in, pressing a light flutter kiss to her lips. She doesn't have time to respond and its over almost as soon as it starts–and when he pulls back, he grins. "Goodnight, Regina," he says as he takes a step back, leaving her standing there in the doorway, her heart fluttering as her stomach flop, and her maid giggles from across the room.

By mid-morning they're on their way into town.

Regina woke that morning earlier than usual with the same odd sensation bubbling at her core that she fell asleep with, and her immediate thoughts as her eyes fluttered open that morning wondered what sort adventure the day would bring them.

When Belle came into dress her, she couldn't help but notice a giddiness about her–an excitement that wasn't usually there. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed, though–and she found herself grinning and hoping that it wouldn't be the last. The first time she'd noticed it was the morning after she'd been fitted for a dress to wear to Mary Margaret Blanchard's soiree. Belle had come in as she usually does, and to fill the silenced, she'd mentioned the dress. Belle's eyes had widened a little and her cheeks flushed–though she tried in vain to hide it–as she asked if Granny Lucas had brought her granddaughter, Ruby, along. Regina shook her head and said that she hadn't and there'd been something that looked like disappointment the registered in Belle's smile. But for the second fitting, Ruby had come along and it was hard not to notice her maid's awkward little smiles and suddenly clumsy hands–and from the little pedestal she stood on, Regina could see that Ruby, though better at masking it, seemed charmed.

From that point, she tried to work the subject of Ruby Lucas into conversations when it fit–and each and every time the dressmaker's granddaughter, Belle's eyes would cast down and her lip would catch between her teeth and she turn away so that Regina couldn't see her flushing cheeks–and whenever Regina would mention needing a hem fixed or that she was considering having one of her dresses altered, Belle was always quick to offer taking whatever garment in to Granny Lucas's shop.

In some ways, it was harmless fun. In her younger, freer days, she loved to set up her friends–pointing out when they'd caught the eye of young gentleman at a party and daring them to be so bold as to ask for a dance, then giggling about stolen kisses and roaming hands. It'd never been anything serious, but she missed those moments–she missed having friends, and though Belle was someone paid to keep her company and tend to her needs, sometimes it was easy enough to forget that and pretend otherwise. And in other ways, she supposed she'd always have a romantic heart that rooted for the underdogs–those seemingly mismatched or those kept apart due to circumstance or to prevent a scandal–and though it didn't always work out, though odds were against them, when it did work out, it seemed all the sweeter.

"He loves that dragon," Regina says, looking over to Robin as the carriage turns off the wooded path toward the little stretch of town. "He can't be without it."

Robin grins as his eyes shift to Henry. "I'm glad. Perhaps I'll have to carve him out a little friend, or maybe a knight to battle."

"Perhaps," Regina agrees, returning his grin. "And what will the three of you be up to while I'm at the dressmaker?"

"Well," Robin beings, as his voice drops an octave, so that the boys can't quite hear him. "Last time we were here, I couldn't quite help notice the bakery window was filled with all sorts of cakes and pies and other sweets."

"You'll ruin their appetites for lunch."

"Who's to say that wouldn't be lunch?"

Regina's eyes roll. "We should feed them something sensible… like the lunch that the kitchen staff prepared."

"Bread and cheese and mashed up egg hardly sounds appetizing… for any of us." He laughs a little as his eyes narrow at her. "And you're not the only one who gets to spoil them a bit."

Her eyebrows arch. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't think I haven't seen you sneaking ginger snaps when you go up to tuck them in."

Taking a breath, her shoulder stiffen with indignation. "That's _hardly_ the same."

Robin only smirks in reply as their carriage rounds the corner and pulls in front of Granny Lucas's shop, and with a long sigh and a glare in Robin's direction, Regina gathers her skirt and hops down onto the cobblestone path. Belle joins her and a grin twists onto her lips as Robin offers her a wink as the carriage pulls away and she hopes that when they meet for lunch in a handful of hours, she won't be greeted by two rambunctious little boys, high on sugar.

"Shall we, m'lady?" Belle asks–and a grin tugs onto Regina's and she nods, excitement flickering at her core.

For the next couple of hours, Regina stands on stool in front of a mirror. Ruby goes over each measurement of the dress she'd ordered only days before. And for each detail, Regina makes it a point to ask Belle's opinion and she watches the way Ruby's eyes shift to her and a soft smile draws onto her lips as the maid responds. Together, they decide on dropping the neckline into more of a scoop and they add the same white piping to it and a few white buttons. To the sash, they add in some French blue glass beads and on the dress and instead of having the sleeves end just before her shoulders, they extend them to her elbow, trimming them in same ribbon as the sash. Of course, none of the alterations were necessary and she'd been happy with the dress as it was–but there was something thrilling about the rest of it, that made the visit worthwhile.

"You'll be stunning in it, m'lady," Belle says as she watches Ruby add the finishing details to the sketch. "It's hard to believe such a lovely dress starts as… just those spools of fabric. I can't imagine all the work that goes into…" She stops suddenly and her cheeks flush, and Regina grins as her eyes fall to the sketch. "It takes such talent."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I've been helping Granny since I was eight. It's more just… learning the patterns and…"

"Nonsense," Regina cuts in. "Not _anyone_ could do it, and not everyone who does it does it _well_." She watches as Ruby smiles and she can't help but notice the way her eyes quickly shift to Belle. "This shop is a hidden treasure. Everyone else foolishly goes miles and miles away."

"That's kind of you to say."

Smiling, she nods and steps down from the stool. "Do you think it'll be ready in time for the church bazaar?"

"I think it's very possible," Ruby nods as her eyes shift back to Regina. "We don't have many orders, and it can go to the top of the list."

Taking a breath, Regina looks between Ruby and Belle. "You know, Mr. Locksley and I were planning a picnic with Roland and Henry in the park, and we were thinking that, perhaps, you'd like the afternoon off."

"Oh," Belle murmurs as a smile slowly edges onto her lips. "I would, I just don't know what I'd do to entertain myself for an entire afternoon."

Regina grins as Ruby's eyes widen and she shift awkwardly on her feet. "Well, if you don't have anything else to do," she begins. "I could… show you some of the patterns and how spools of fabric turn into dressed and… maybe we could have tea?"

"That would be… nice," Belle says as her cheeks flush.

"Then it's settled," Regina says quickly as she smooths her hands down over her skirt. "We'd like to be back at Sherwood by dinner–or–" she chuckles softly and shakes her head, "Well, no. I don't think we'd _like_ to be back, but we _should_ be. So, we'll meet you back here and we'll all ride back together."

"Yes, m'lady," Belle murmurs as her lip catches between her teeth as she looks shyly to Ruby. "That would be wonderful."

With that, she nods her head to them both and heads out of the shop, heading in the direction of the park. She can't help but laugh to herself as she walks–thinking of the way Belle and Ruby had looked at each other, and then thinking of the way Robin had looked at her as he'd teased her about the gingersnaps.

When she turns toward the park, she can see Robin just beyond a bed of flowers, stretched out and laying on his side on a blanket. There's a basket at his feet and the boys are both lying on their backs, looking upward at trees, or maybe at the sky. She can see that Robin is talking to them and her chest tightens as she comes close enough to hear them laughing–and she almost doesn't want to interrupt.

Robin waves her over and she gathers up her skirt as she joins them on the blankets. Robin helps her to settle as her eyes shift to the basket the cook prepared for them that morning.

"So," she begins, clearing her throat. "What did you end up deciding on for this little picnic luncheon?"

A grin drawns onto Robin's lips. "Well, we did stop in a the baker's…"

"But we only got butter cookies," Roland tells her, very seriously. "We just looked at the cakes."

"And lemon tarts for us," Robin tells. "We made a little adventure out of it, a sort of scavenger hunt." Her brow arches as she looks between them all. "From the baker, we headed over the the general store, but we didn't find anything there…"

"I wouldn't imagine so," Regina murmurs. "Well, nothing you wouldn't have to cook yourself."

"Precisely, and…I'm useless in that regard as you know." She laughs a little remembering how he'd looked so helpless when she'd asked him to mash the potatoes, and she remembers the little tingle that ran up her spine as her hands formed over his, as she showed him how to use the masher. "So, we headed to the pub…"

"You took our children to a public house."

"Only for a bit."

"We got lemonades!" Henry tells her. "It was sour and sweet…"

"And _good_ ," Roland adds.

"And while they were sipping lemonade, the barkeep made us all some sandwiches."

"No egg mash?"

Robin shakes his head as he opens the basket's latch. "Hard-boiled slices, instead," he tells her as he pulls two parchment-wrapped sandwiches from it. "Ham, egg and cheese for the boys," he says slowly, waiting for each boy to claim his sandwich. "And… roast beef and egg for us," he tells her, reaching in again and retrieving two more sandwiches. "There's a little cup of horseradish, if you'd prefer it with a little zing."

"I would," she murmurs as she takes the wrapped sandwich, letting a grin easy tug onto her lips as he fishes out the sauce. "Thank you."

Robin nods as he unwraps his sandwich and slathers it in the remaining sauce. "So, tell me," he says, as he takes a bite. "How was the fitting? Everything you hoped?"

She nods, her grin brightening as she thinks of Ruby and Belle having tea. "Better than I'd hoped."

"Oh?"

"I, um… think I might have just set up my dressmaker with an admirer."

Robin blinks. "You found Granny Lucas a beau?"

"No," she replies as she bites off a little of the crusty part of the bread. "Not Granny, Ruby. And… not a beau." Robin's head tips to the side. "I think she and Belle might have… a little thing for one another." Robin's brows arch and for a moment, he stops chewing. "You… disapprove."

"No, I just… I wouldn't have considered it."

"I know it's not exactly the most conventional of matches, but…" A grin tugs onto her lips as she thinks of Belle's flushed cheeks as Ruby's eyes caught hers. "They're sweet together."

"Ah… and you came to this conclusion… how?"

Her shoulders shrug and her jaw tightens, and she feels herself growing defensive. "The way anyone would about any potential pair, I suppose."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything–and then, he smiles. "You're really something, you know that?" He laughs as he takes another bite of his sandwich and eases back onto his elbows.

"So, you're… fine with it?" She asks, not quite ready to let her guard down. "I mean, I think it's harmless, but should any of it get out, I'm sure it'd be quite the scandal."

"I've never been one to care much about rumors or scandals, and I think everyone cares far too much about the intimate details of everyone else's life. If you're happy, you're happy and that should be the end of it. There's no need to scrutinize why or look for reasons to gossip." He grins a little. "So, if your maid and dressmaker enjoy the other's company, then who am I to stop it?" Nodding, she feels her shoulders relax and she takes a bigger bite of the sandwich. "And truth be told, I'm not really interested in who your maid is smitten with. I'm far more interested in… other things."

"Such as?"

"I sent an inquiry to the hunting lodge up north," he tells her. "They'll be ready for us a week after the bazaar."

"That's soon," she murmurs, a smile edging onto her lips at the prospect of getting away from Sherwood for awhile and having the chance to just _be_. "I almost wish we didn't have to wait."

"Well, we didn't have to, I just figured we'd give them some time to stock up the kitchen and make up the rooms. I'm having some things sent up for the boys ahead of time to make travelling up easier, and if you've not objections, I was thinking we'd take a wagonway."

"I've never traveled by one," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. "So, I've nothing to object to."

"They're small, but quicker," he tells her easily. "So, if you have things you think you'll want to have at the hunting lodge, I can send them along beforehand."

"I'll think it over," she murmurs in reply, her stomach fluttering as she takes another bite of the sandwich. "How long do you think we'll be there?"

"A week, maybe?" He tells her. "And if we like it, perhaps, we'll go longer the next time."

She nods. "The next time…that already sounds wonderful."

"I thought," he tells her, chuckling softly. "It'd be nice to have a little getaway that was just ours."

"Agreed…" For a moment, her eyes slide to the boys, watching as they lay on their stomachs and eat their sandwiches, kicking their feet back and forth as they look up at the trees, watching as a squirrel with full and puffy cheeks runs back and forth along a branch, looking completely conflicted. She hears Roland giggle a little as he nudges Henry's arm and points to it and whispers something she can't quite hear. Henry laughs, too, and both seem completely and happily distracted. "You know," she says, taking a breath as her eyes shift back to Robin–and then she laughs, noticing a smudge of horseradish at the corner of her mouth. "You're making a mess of yourself."

"What?" He asks, roughly rubbing his head over his mouth, somehow missing the horseradish completely. "Did I get it?"

"No," she laughs. "I don't suppose there are any napkins packed in that picnic basket?"

"No," he murmurs. "Somehow, it seems they were forgotten."

"Well, we'll just have to make-do, then," she says, sitting up and leaning toward him, reaching out and pushing two of her fingers against his lip, wiping away the spot of horseradish. Her stomach flutters as Robin's eyes drop to her fingers and her breath catches in her chest when his fingers fold around her wrist. Letting her eyes meet hers, she sees that he's smiling coyly at her and she feels a little tingle run down her spine as he draws her hand to his lips, sucking the the excess horseradish from her fingers before kissing the back of her hand and releasing her.

"So, um… what was it that you were saying?" He asks, tipping his head to the side and smiling smugly, completely aware of the effect he's had on her as her cheeks flush. "You were about to say something."

"Hm?"

"Before you noticed the horseradish, you seemed like you were going to tell me something."

"Was I?" She asks, swallowing hard as her cheeks flush a little. "I don't remember."

"Ah…" He murmurs, grinning as he takes another bite of the sandwich. "Perhaps it was about the needlepoint your mother signed you up to make for the bazaar's auction?"

At that, she groans and her shoulders relax. "I wish I didn't remember _that_."

"You could do something simple… like a tree or a flower or…"

"No matter what I do, it'll be an excellent example of what _not_ to do," she cuts in with a sigh. "She knows I hate needlepoint. My X's never come out the same size and whatever I make, it always comes out crooked and…" Robin laughs and her voice trails off, and once again, she feels her stomach fluttering. "It'll be such a disappointment."

"I highly doubt that."

"You want to bet on it?" She asks, her brow arching. "Because I am sure I'd win."

"Let's," he says, pulling himself up. "Let's bet on it."

"Alright," she agrees confidently. "We will. If my needlepoint sells, then…"

"Then you make me dinner," he's quick to say. "At the hunting lodge." Her widen a bit as he laughs. "And for the sake of argument, if you win–which you won't–what do you want from me?"

"Oh," she breathes out, her mind suddenly blank. "I… don't know." She sighs and her chest flutters. "I don't know what I'd want. Can I think about it?"

He nods. "Don't think on it too long," he tells her, a chuckle rising into his voice. "Because you're going to lose this one and I'd hate for you to waste your time." Her eyes roll and she sighs, feigning annoyance at his bravado, and, in spite of herself, she can't help the little smile that creeps onto her lips as she thinks of how she already has more with him than she ever could have dared to want a year before.


	11. Chapter 11

He shouldn't laugh–but he can't help it.

He can see her from the stairs, sitting alone in the drawing room, hunched over in a chair working on a needlepoint. Her brow is furrowed and her jaw is tight, and just looking at her, he can see that her shoulders are tense. As he comes closer to the drawing room, he can hear her huffing and hissing at the needlepoint–and though he's tried, he can't help but laugh out as her thimble falls from her finger and she mutters a slew of unladylike words.

"Good morning to you, too."

"It's hardly morning."

He shrugs–that's true, it's nearly ten. "But I've yet to see you today. You left me to dine with my father–who has decided that soft boiled eggs are entirely too soft and made the poor cook make them three times over before finally eating them," he tells her, chuckling quietly to himself as she scowls and looks up sharply reaching for the thimble and rolls her eyes. "Isn't that supposed to be auctioned off this evening?"

"Don't remind me," she sighs as she tries to refocus on the needlepoint.

"Are those… stars on… strings?"

"Flowers," she says as tugs on the thread. "They're flowers."

His eyes widen. "Oh, well… I see it now," he lies. "Now that I'm closer, I can definitely see they're… daisies?"

Rolling her eyes, she looks up at him for an all too brief moment, her eyes darkened with frustration. "Daffodils."

"Oh, they're…"

"Terrible. I know."

Pushing into the room, he sits down on the chair opposite her and watches as she pokes the needle into the canvas, obviously missing her mark. "You know, you don't _have_ to finish it. You look… stressed."

"That's because I _am_ stressed. And, yes, I do have to finish it," she mutters without looking up. "If I don't, it'll just be one more thing my mother has to hold over my head. I _have_ to finish it. Even if it looks like a creature without thumbs made it."

"It's just a needlepoint. It's not–"

"It's _not_ just a needlepoint, not to my mother."

"And not to you, I'm guessing."

"It's… symbolic of my failure," she tells him, sighing loudly as she tugs at the yellow string, grimacing as it knots and creates a little loop at the center of one of the flowers. "And, as my mother's already reminded me, my failure knows no bounds."

"That's not true."

"To her it is."

"Regina, that's…"

She blinks up at him, her brow arching in his direction–this is not a topic she's interested in discussing. "The only reason she volunteered me for this is because she assumed I wouldn't actually follow through with–it'd be too embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?"

She nods, again not looking up as her jaw tenses and she forces the needle through the thin canvas–the thread not quite lining up to where it's supposed to be. "It's a no-win situation," she tells him flatly. "If I don't complete it, I'm a let down who can't even do a _simple_ thing for _charity_. But, if I do complete it, _this_ thing gets to go on display for all to see." Her shoulders shrug dismissively. "It's all to… remind me of my place."

"Your place…"

"Well, what my mother believes that to be," she tells him, briefly allowing her eyes to meet his.

"I see…"

He's not quite used to seeing her this way–defeated and resigned, and it seems regressive. When she'd first arrived at Sherwood, she'd been so unsure and guarded. Yet, slowly but surely, she'd lowered her walls and let him in. As the days and weeks passed, he'd watched as the life came back into her eyes and her confidence boosted. Still, it wasn't the life she wanted–it wasn't the life she'd planned or expected to have–but she was making the best of it, and if he'd dare speak for her, he'd say she was settling into it and even enjoying it.

When it was just the four of them–he and Regina and their sons–he couldn't help but feel like there was something special there. He found her more at ease, smiling and laughing more often, more forthcoming and less reserved. She didn't hold her tongue or second-guess herself–she seemed freer and and the weight of her past lives didn't seem to sit so heavily on her shoulders.

"So, I have to finish it," she tells him, pulling him back into the present moment. "It's the lesser failure."

Regina looks back to the needlepoint and and takes in a short breath–and he knows the topic of her mother and her lofty expectations has been put to rest, but the rest, he can't quite let go.

"You never know," he tells her, as a smile edges onto his lips. "It might sell. The church might make a _killing_ off of those starry daffodils."

"You are delusional."

"Stranger things have happened and some people like their art a little more abstract… complicated, even."

She doesn't look up at him, but her eyes roll and he sees a hint of a grin tugging up from the corner of her mouth. "It'd make a lovely gift for someone you didn't like."

He laughs. "I bet it sells."

"I… bet you're wrong."

His grin twists deeper. "So, are we betting on it?"

Regina blinks up at him. "You want to bet _in favor_ of my needlepoint selling at the bazaar."

"I do," he tells her with a confident nod as he folds his arms over his chest and settles back in his chair. "We should settle on the stakes."

"You mean, I should figure out what I want you to do for me when you lose the bet."

"Or what _you_ can do for _me_ when I win it."

"You'd be wasting your time and energy," she tells him as she looks back to the needlepoint.

"I'm wasting nothing," he counters, as a chuckle rises into his voice. "Besides, I already know what I want." Slowly, her eyes turn up to meet his. "Dinner," he tells her simply. "I want you to make me dinner."

"Dinner…"

"When we take the boys up to the hunting lodge."

Her brow arches and a grin stretches over lips. "We're taking them to the hunting lodge? When did you hear back from the staff there?"

"Yesterday. It came with the evening post."

"And when will this be?"

"Whenever we're ready," he tells her, smiling as her bottom lip catches between her teeth and she once more returns to tugging on her needle and thread. "I suggest sooner than later though. Summers up there are quite nice and I think the boys would love horseback riding through the hills and shooting arrows at hay bales and…" He laughs a little, realizing those are all things the boys could do at Sherwood. "And there's a nice little path through the gardens that leads to an orchard that I think you'd really enjoy."

"That does sound nice."

"I'll arrange it, then," he tells her as Belle comes into the room. "And then we'll settle on an evening for the staff to have a night off so you can make me that dinner."

She laughs and shakes her head, but turns her attention to Belle hovering at the threshold.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, M'lady," Bells says, looking between them. "But I've just returned from the dress shop and, Ruby and Granny made all the alterations you requested, and I wondered if you wanted to see it?" Belle smiles expectantly and Robin watches as Regina's eyes widen with excitement. "It's all laid out on your bed," Belle tells her, as if needing something to entice her. "It would only take a minute."

"It would give you a much-deserved break from that _lovely_ needlepoint," Robin says as he rises to his feet. "And it would give me a reason to excuse myself and go write that letter to the housekeeper at the lodge."

"And I need to think about what I want from you when I win your bet."

"You do that," he tells her, laughing softly–and a bit condescending–and her eyes roll as he takes a few steps away. "Oh," he murmurs, turning back. "Will I be seeing you at luncheon?"

"That depends…"

"I hear the kitchen is scrambling to find a way to repurpose all of the wasted eggs," he tells her. "If that entices you, at all."

"Not really," she replies, laughing as she drops her needlepoint into her lap. "And, I'm sorry to say, if I don't finish this thing soon, I will not be at luncheon." She pauses and for a moment, their eyes meet–and he feels his stomach tighten and flop. "You might be able to use those eggs to entice Roland and Henry, though" she suggests. "I am sure they'd love to not have to eat with Celeste," she chuckles softly, "about as much as you'd like to not have to eat again with your father."

"You are brilliant, m'lady," he says, taking a few steps back to her and pressing a fleeting kiss to her cheek–leaving her giggling and flushed as he proceeds through the French doors that lead to the garden where the boys are playing a game of tag.

Regina watches as Belle ties the yellow sash around her waist–a smile drawing onto her lips as she admires the way the fabric hangs on her, the way the colors stand out, and the sheer genius displayed in Ruby's handiwork. Her eyes trail up and she catches the way Belle looks at the back of the dress as her fingers however over a tight row of pearly buttons.

"After three fittings, I am quite happy with how this turned out," Regina says, eyeing her maid curiously. "Ruby did an incredible job. Can you remind me to write her a thank you note tomorrow? Everyone always goes on and on about Granny's talent–and rightfully so–but I think I prefer Ruby's style a bit more. It's… younger."

"Of course," Belle says, her eyes falling away at the mention of Ruby's name. "I'll make sure it goes into the afternoon post."

Regina nods. "Or, you could take it to her personally after breakfast?" At that, Belle looks up and her gaze catches Regina's through the mirror. "Unless you've other plans?"

"No, no, I can… I can take it to her," she says, her cheeks flushing. "I like going into town."

"Mm, the dress shop specifically?" Belle's cheeks flush and Regina grins as she twists away from the mirror and moves toward her jewelry box to select something to wear–and to give her maid a little space. She selects a string of pearls and fishes for the matching earrings. "So," she begins, "Are you coming to the bazaar? I don't think you said."

"Oh, I wasn't going to," Belle says. "I have some things to do around here and, I can't bid on anything."

"There will be games and food stands. You don't have to bid."

"It's a charity event. The point is to raise money for the church and I haven't any to give."

Regina grins as she plucks one of the earrings from the tray. "I'll bid on something for you," she says, looking back over her shoulder. "Then you'll be absolved from any obligation."

"That's kind, but…"

"Belle," Regina cuts in, turning to face her as she leans against her dressing table. "You're eighteen. You shouldn't… be stuck here mending my skirts and cleaning my jewelry."

Belle grins. "But, I'm your maid. That's… what maids do. It's what you pay me to do. It's… why you hired me."

"True," Regina returns with a little laugh. "But you've spent the whole week running frivolous errands for me and you'll be running another tomorrow morning, so–" She grins. "Ruby is going to be there."

"I know," Belle says, once again looking away. "She told me."

"Her grandmother has a stand of ribbon and fabric pins and I'm sure she'd like to sneak away."

"I'm sure she would," Belle replies shyly. "Are you… sure you don't mind?"

"I insist," Regina says as she turns back to her jewelry box with a satisfied smile. "Besides, you and Ruby being there will give me someone to talk to when I my mother and I need some space."

Belle shakes her head and comes up behind her, helping her with the earrings and the necklace. Regina sits down at the dressing table as Belle reaches for a container of hair pins–and they slip into a conversation about the various games and stands at the bazaar. They talk about what they think about what the boys will enjoy most–and how uncomfortable the whole thing will make Celeste–and how the boys will likely be too excited to go to sleep and they laugh about how that'll make Celeste extra cheerful come the next morning.

"Did you finish the needlepoint?" Belle asks, as she slides a pearl comb into Regina's hair. "You were so stressed about it this afternoon."

"I did," Regina sighs. "It's… quite something."

"I'm sure it's lovely."

"I don't pay you enough to say that."

"Mr. Locksley is pretty certain it'll do well."

Regina grins, and this time, it's her turn to look away shyly. "Mr. Locksley is delusional."

"Delusional is a strong word."

"Well, you haven't seen the finished product. The needlepoint is atrocious," Regina says, drawing in a breath as she looks up at the mirror. "And I can't wait for my mother to tell me _all_ about it."

"You shouldn't be so concerned with what she thinks," Belle says, as she tucks away a straying strand of Regina's hair and pins it. "She's wrong about a lot of things."

"Maybe…"

"She is," Belle insists. "She's too hard on you."

"Maybe it's deserved."

"I don't think so," Belle says, reaching for another pin. "And I'm not alone."

"Robin's opinion doesn't count. He's… oddly bias in his…"

"I'm not talking about Robin," Belle cuts in. "People in town are always talking about how kind you are, the servants here all say such nice things about how refreshing it is to have you here and," the maid shrugs. "And my mother always used to say that a parent's true character could be seen in the disposition of their children, and Henry's about as sweet as they come."

"Thank you for that," Regina says as a small smile tugs onto her lips. "That.. means a lot."

"So, maybe Mr. Locksley's opinion _does_ count?"

"I would like to think so," Robin's voice cuts in as he steps into the room–and she feels a light fluttering in her chest as as his eyes trail over her. "You look… stunning."

"Ruby did an amazing job on the dress."

Robin nods, swallowing as he takes a breath. "Yes, that's, uh… exactly what I was thinking." Belle giggles a little as Regina's cheeks flush and Robin rubs at the back of his neck. "Uh, I was just.. I'm going to go change. We'll probably leave within the hour. Is that enough time?"

"I think so," Regina says, with a nod. "Celeste is getting the boys ready, and I just have… a couple more things to do." A grin edges onto her lips. "I'll meet you downstairs?"

Robin nods and a smile stretches onto his lips as he takes one more look at her. "I look forward to it."

"He's so smitten with you," Belle laughs as she takes as step away from Regina. "And you are ready." Regina turns on the stool in front of the dressing table. "So, what else did you need to do? You're dressed, your hair is done, jewlery is on…did I miss something?"

"Well, sort of," Regina begins slowly as she rises as she walks to the wardrobe. "You're not dressed."

"Oh," Belle breathes out as she looks down at her plain black dress and white apron. "I have my church dress up–"

"No, no, no," Regina cuts in. "You're going to borrow something from me." Belle blinks and look at her, turning her head to the side as Regina pulls the wardrobe open. "Come on, we've only got an hour. Choose something…"

"I couldn't…"

"Of course you can," Regina says easily as she pulls out periwinkle dress with floral print sash and matching piping. "You've always liked this one," she says, "And it'd look great with your eyes."

"But I…"

Rolling her eyes, Regina pushes the wardrobe shut and tosses the dress onto her bed. "Sit," she instructs as Belle's eyes widen. "We only have an hour…"

"Regina, you don't have to–"

"I want to and it'll be fun," she insists as she points to the stool in front of her and looks to her maid as a sly little grin edges onto her lips. "And who knows whose eye you'll catch tonight."

For the first hour or so that they're at the church bazaar, they take the boys are around to some of the games and craft tables, letting them throw ball at milk bottles and smear watercolors onto little swatches of canvas. By the time they reach a little stand, handing out slices of honey-glazed peaches, the boys are practically bouncing with excitement–and Celeste's jaw is already tense.

"Maybe you should take them," Regina murmurs to Robin as the boys run toward a stand that promises fresh-made, hard fruit-flavored candies. "They're having so much fun and…"

"We should really discuss the possibility of a nanny who… likes children," Robin says with a laugh as he looks to Celeste as she half-heartedly reminds the boys they shouldn't be running–and he rolls his eyes when she whimpers when her request goes ignored. "But I think that might be a good idea."

"I should make my way to my mother's stand, then…"

"You still have time."

" _You_ think that I have time, but my mother…"

"It's not even six thirty," Robin sighs. "She told you to be there at seven."

"Mm, but to my mother seven-sharp is… more like six forty-five," Regina counters. "And life has taught me that it's best to be early, so she doesn't even have time to _consider_ my tardiness." A frown forms on his lips and he sighs. "It's for the best," she tells him with a little laugh.

"But we're almost to my favorite stand."

"You have a favorite stand?" she asks, her brow arching. "And which is that?"

"The peppermint stand," he tells her, his voice rising an octave as a smile edges onto his lips. "It's quite literally the next stand," he says, reaching for her hand. "Come on."

"Robin, I need to–" Her voice halts as he tugs her toward the stand. "I'm serious. I can't be late."

"You won't be," he insists, looking between her and an elderly man sitting at a table in front of a row of silver trays. "And this way, you'll have a sweet treat to counter–"

"My mother's sourness?"

Laughing out, he nods and plucks two of the peppermint candies from the tray. "These ones are my favorites," he tells her as he drops one into her palm before dropping a few coins into the cup next to the elderly man. "On second thought," he says, reaching for another, "Your mother may require _two_ of these."

"Thank you," she says, grinning as she pops the first candy into her mouth and accepts the second before dropping it down into her pocket. "Now, I should be going."

"I know," he sighs. "I wish you didn't have to though."

"I wish I didn't have, too."

"Then…"

"Robin…"

"We could take the boys apple bob–"

"And I am sure you will tell me all about it after the bazaar," she cuts in. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go… watch people point and laugh at my needlepoint as my mother scowls at me and tells me what a disappointment I am."

"Alright," he says, offering her an empathetic little smile and nods, and looks back at where Celeste is attempting to wipe Roland's honey-glazed mouth while Henry twists impatiently beside her and eyes the peaches. "But first," he says, looking back to her. "There's _one_ more thing we need to do."

Before she can protest, he's tugging her along–and her heart is fluttering. He leads her over to one of the games–one he'd been careful to steer the boys away from as they made their rounds through the game booths. The man behind inside the booth–baring a hand-painted _Shooting Gallery_ sign– hands him a gun and asks if he knows how to play.

Robin nods. "It's been awhile since I've played and I'm more of an archer, but I'm a good shot, regardless."

"Are you?" Regina asks, her brow arching–she didn't know–and for some reason, it makes her smile.

"I am," he nods, as the man flips a switch and three rows of little ducks begin to move back and forth. "Three in a row, right?"

"That's right…"

"And if I get shoot three, what do I win?"

"Any of the prizes on that table."

Robin grins and turns, looking back at her over his shoulder. "Pick something."

"Shouldn't you win first?" She asks, arching her brow as his grin brightens. "After all…"

"After all, I never miss a shot," he cuts in, before looking back to the moving ducks and then, he raises the gun to his shoulder and presses his finger to the trigger–and three loud shots later, there are three fewer ducks bobbing behind the booth.

He turns to her, smiling broadly as his eyes widen excitedly–and she can't help but smile herself, laughing softly as he hands the gun back to the man behind the booth and reaches for her. He tugs her to him and pecks her lips–and her breath catches in her chest as he pulls back and leads her over to the table.

"Pick something!"

Her stomach flutters as he squeezes her hand and he smiles so sweetly as he looks down at the table of prizes–and she plucks a little yellow fabric flower from the selection. Robin smile at it and carefully takes it from her, examining it closely before tucking it into her hair–and she feels her cheeks warm.

"I… should go," she says reluctantly–wanting nothing more than to stay in the moment with him and see where it leads. "My mother is waiting."

"Mm," he nods, "And I hear she gets quite upset when she's kept waiting."

"Especially when it's me she's waiting for."

He grins. "You could just… not go."

"That would be worse."

"Would it be?" He asks, arching his brow. "I think it'd be quite a lovely evening," he tells her. "We could take the boys around a few more times, and let them play a few more games, eat a few more treats and head then head back to Sherwood for a nightcap and–"

"I have to go," she sighs as she leans up onto the tips of her toes and presses a soft kiss to his cheek–and she can't help but smile when he turns a his face and catches her lips, offering her a sweet kiss goodbye. "Thank you for the flower."

She walks a couple of feet before turning back and watching as Robin lifts Roland onto his shoulders and reaches for Henry's hand–and she can't help it when her smile fades and she finds herself wishing that she were with them. It occurs to her that it's not too late to join them and that she's done far worse than stand up her mother–but with a sigh, she turns back and continues to Cora's rented booth where she's greeted with a stern look and a disapproving sigh.

"You're late."

"I know, I'm… I'm sorry."

"Are you?" Cora asks as she takes a few steps forward. "I've heard you and that husband of yours were putting on quite a show."

"A show?" Regina asks, her eyes widening a little. "I don't know what you mean. We just took the boys around, let them play some games and make a few crafts and…"

"That's even worse," Cora snaps. "In front of the children…"

"Mother," Regina beings, drawing in a long breath as she tries to stay calm. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"Don't you? You kissed him in the middle of the bazaar–the _church_ bazaar, Regina!"

She blinks, bristling as her shoulders tense. "That was… hardly a kiss."

"So, you don't deny it."

"Mother…"

"Don't screw this up, Regina. Everyone is watching, waiting to see what shame you bring to this family next," Cora says as her voice drops to a raspy whisper. "Robin Locksley might find your antics charming now, but that'll certainly wear off when he becomes the subject of some sordid scandal–and his father certainly is not amused by any of this."

"He's not going to become the subject of anything. I kissed my husband goodbye. It was… completely innocent." Her arms fold defensively as her jaw tenses and she does her best to push away the little voice at the back of her head telling her that Cora is right. "And Robin is a good man, mother. He wouldn't just…"

Cora scoffs. "Regina, don't be so naive. If he only knew everything about you, he'd have never wanted you–and if he finds out, he won't hesitate to toss you aside… good man, or not. Pity only goes so far." Regina's throat tightens as her eyes meet her mothers, watching as Cora's face softens. "Regina, I'm only trying to look out for you."

She nods as Cora squeezes her arm and she looks around at the selection of needlepoints, most of which are lovely and framed, on display. "What do you need help with?" She asks, desperately wanting to change the subject.

Cora sighs and rolls her eyes, waving her hand in the direction of Regina's needlepoint that's pinned to a board a little board. "Go… stand in front of that thing and smile and, for God's sake try not to look like you want to be here. You look so sullen!"

"You… want me to draw attention to it?"

"No," Cora says, shaking her head. "Block it. That's not even worthy of charity." Regina's eyes cast down and she takes another breath as Cora's tongue clicks in a disapproving way. "You're just going to stand there? I've been working this booth alone all night, you might as well help out and sell some of the nicer ones, since you obviously couldn't be bothered to put forth any real effort."

Feeling tears welling in her eyes, she nods and turns to the table where her needlepoint sits, her chest tightening as Cora turns away from her and warmly greets a couple wandering up toward the booth–and if never occurs to her to ask how her mother even knew about her kissing Robin.

Folding up a chair, Regina takes a breath and reminds herself the bazaar is nearly over. She's vaguely tired and there's a dull ache in her temples. The handful of hours she spent with her mother in the booth were mentally exhausting and unbelievably boring–talking about shades of pink thead and stitching that she didn't understand, smiling and making small talk about things that were irrelevant. The corners of her mouth and jaw hurt from forcing a smile and gritting her teeth, and now that it was over, she just wants to go home.

"Why don't you let me help you with that," Robin calls out. Looking up, she finds a smile drawing onto her lips as she watches him jog toward her–and as soon as he reaches her, he takes the chair and folds it. "How did it go?"

"About as well as expected," she says, letting out a long sigh as her eyes shift momentarily to her mother then back to Robin, and a feeling of relief washes over her. "Where are the boys?"

"Sound asleep in the carriage with Celeste."

"So it's safe to assume they had a good time."

"A wonderful time," he confirms.

"I'm glad," she says, as she reaches for another chair and folds it. "Is Belle with them?"

"No," he replies slowly. "The last I saw her, she was sitting at a little table sipping tea and eating glazed peaches with Ruby." Regina looks back to him and a grin instantly forms. "And you seem pleased."

"I am."

A grin twists onto his lips. "Is that why your maid is wearing one of your dresses?"

"It is," she nods. "I wanted her to have a nice time tonight and sometimes, wearing a nice dress can be just enough of a confidence booster…" her voice trails off as she remembers the way Belle had blushed when she looked at her own reflection in Regina's mirror. "She's a sweet girl."

Stepping in, Robin takes the other chair from her and his hand finds her waist. "I might say the same of you."

Bristling, she takes a step back and looks up to see if her mother is watching–and breathes out a momentary sigh of relief when she finds Cora engaged in a conversation with the minister's wife. Still, though, she takes another step back and reaches for a box, mindful of keeping some distance between her and Robin. "The sooner we get this cleaned up, the sooner we can go home and–" Her voice halts as she watches Zelena pass, offering Cora and the minister's wife a little wave before looking pointedly at Regina, and Regina feels her stomach drop. "–and I really just want to go home," she manages to say.

Robin's head tips to the side, obviously noting the changes in her demeanor, and she takes another step back "Are you alright?"

"Of course," she says, watching as Zelena passes and disappears around a corner. "I'm just tired."

"You sure?" She nods and pulls the top form the box and tugs at the table cloth. For a moment, he watches her, studying her as if to try and read her thoughts–and he must succeed because when he speaks again, his tone is completely different and his words offer the distraction she'd been hoping for. "I mean, it must have been a lot of hard work selling your needlepoint."

"That is where you're wrong," she tells him, laughing softly. "No one even looked at it. I know that because I spent the entire evening guarding it."

"Is that so? The whole evening? You never once wandered away from it?"

"Yes," she nods. "My mother literally made me stand in front of it to block it."

"Hm, that's interesting," he says, looking past her to a row of leftover needlepoints. "Because it's not there."

"What?"

"Look for yourself," he tells her, pointing to the space where her needlepoint had once been displayed. "Seems that someone had a soft spot for your starry daffodils."

Blinking, she looks back at the space–and sure enough, her sad little needlepoint is gone. "What did you do?"

Robin's eyes widen as he tugs at the table cloth in her hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you buy my needlepoint?"

"No," he scoffs. "I was with the boys all night, running between booths and games and trying to stop them from eating too much candy. I didn't have much time for browsing."

Her eyes narrow. "I don't believe you."

A grin twists onto his lips and he shrugs. "Come on," he says, tugging again at the table cloth in her hands, likely trying to tug her toward him. "Because as you said, the sooner we get all this packed up, the sooner we can go home." Nodding, she takes a breath. "And, um… then we can discuss our dinner arrangements."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dinner arrangements," he says simply, as if it should be obvious to her. "Someone bought your needlepoint, so you owe me dinner."

Shaking her head, her eyes roll. "It doesn't count if _you_ bought it," she tells him. "That's cheating."

"It's not cheating," he says as his shoulders square in defense. "We didn't set any rules."

"So, you're saying you _did_ buy it?"

"I didn't say that either," he tells her, grinning sweetly as he reaches for another table cloth. "But I am positive it went to a good home."

Folding the table cloth, she shoves it into the box. "Well, if you didn't buy it I'm sure it was a gift for a child, something she can use as a guide to show her what _not_ to do on her own needlepoints. I'm sure it's a great lesson of why paying attention to instruction is important."

"Or it was a gift for someone who will cherish it always."

"You did buy it," she says, taking his folded table cloth and shoving it down into the box. "You cheated and your bought my needlepoint."

"So, what if I did?" He murmurs as he steps in beside her and slides his hand over her hip. "Not that I'm confirming anything."

Again, she tenses and pulls away from him, her eyes once more shifting to Cora as her thoughts move from Robin and the needlepoint to Zelena's little wave and what that could have meant.

Robin helps clean up–returning chairs and tables to the church vestibule and helping load wooden boxes into carriages to be taken back to the storage shed. And every now and then, he catches her gaze and smiles, offering her reassurance though he doesn't know why.

By the time they arrive back at Sherwood most of the staff has retired for the night and only a few dim candles light the way. Robin carries both boys and Regina trails behind him, and Celeste doesn't even complain when Regina tells her they'll worry about changing the boys and tucking them in, and that she can just go to bed.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Robin asks as they step out into the hall, closing the door to the nursery. "You seem upset." He pauses for a moment. "Is this about the needlepoint or is it–"

"No," she says quickly. "It's… just the result of an evening with my mother."

"You sure?" He asks in a soft voice and with eyes full of concern. "You just seen so… shaken."

"I'm fine," she says dismissively. "This is nothing a good night's sleep won't solve."

With a sigh, Robin nods. "Well, if there's anything you want to talk about, my door is always open to you."

"Thank you. That's kind," she murmurs back as she looks up at him. "You're kind." He smiles and nods, and for a moment it looks like he's about to say something. "Good night, Robin," she says, leaning up onto her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can formulate his words. "My mother aside, tonight was a lot of fun."

He nods as she settles back on her feet, and once again it looks like he's doing to says something, but instead his hand pushes up over her jaw and his finger slip into her hair as he draws her in, kissing her. His lips are warm and soft, and his kiss is just a little bit forceful. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as his hand settles at the small of her back, pulling her against his chest–and for just a moment, she loses herself in him.

When he pulls back, he smiles and rests his forehead against hers. He doesn't let her go, instead holding her as she tries to catch her breath. "You're not alone anymore, Regina, and your past can't hurt you," he tells her as a smile slowly edges onto his lips and he reaches out and plucks the yellow flower from her hair, his smile brightening as he drags it down over her jaw and lips, then taps it against her nose–and when she laughs, his eyes shine. "Good night, Regina," he says as he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her cheek and hands her the flower.

And for a moment, she just stands there, her heart fluttering and wishing that he were right about her past.


	12. Chapter 12

Taking a long a deep breath, Regina swallows hard as she reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks toward the dining room where she can already hear Richard griping about the toastiness of his toast as he sends it back to the kitchen. Her hand folds over her stomach as she exhales, feeling vaguely unsettled–and her first thought is that it is far too early for this.

With another, shorter breath, she pushes herself off the last stair and moves slowly toward the dining room.

"You're late," Richard remarks, looking up at her as he settles back in his chair and pokes a fork into his egg. "But at least you've chosen to grace us with your presence this morning."

Robin's eyes roll and a loud sigh escapes him as she slides into her chair and a footman pushes her in. "Father…"

"What?" Richard interrupts. "It's a rare occasion your wife manages to make it to breakfast." A snide grin edges onto his lips. "Such an event should be celebrated."

"There's really no need to–"

"He's right though," Regina says as she looks to Robin. "I usually prefer to have breakfast with the boys."

"That's what a nanny is for…"

Regina shrugs as she looks quickly from Richard to Robin. "I can't imagine how I developed the preference," she murmurs as a footman lowers a tray of fruit to her–and as she scoops a few berries to her plate, she feels another wave of nausea–this time, accompanied by a few beads to sweat on her brow. She bats them away and swallows again as an egg is placed in front of her, along with a few slices of ham–and as her tea is poured, a footman enters with a new plate of toast. She tries to smile when the footman goes to Robin first and then to her before taking the long way around the table to Richard, but it's difficult to muster.

"Are you alright?" Robin asks, noticing the way her fingers linger at her fork. "You seem…"

"I'm fine," she cuts in. "Just a little tired."

"Tired, hm?" Richard says, narrowing his eyes in her direction as he selects two pieces of toast. "You're looking a bit pale."

"If you're not feeling well, you should be in b–"

"Robin," she cuts in again, shaking her head. "I am absolutely fine. I'm just…"

"Tired?" He asks, arching his brow. "You're flushed, too."

Looking back to her plate, she lifts her fork and stabs it into a raspberry. "Pale and flushed, I must look like an absolute mess."

"Hardly…"

"Well, now that you mention it," Richard cuts in as he leans in. "Your face looks a little… puffy."

"I should have just joined the boys like I usually do," she mutters under her breath as she takes a breath in an effort to remain composed and not ignore the churning in her stomach. "Like I said, I'm just tired."

"Mr. Locksley," the butler calls as he strides into the room, holding a tray with a sealed letter on it. "This arrived for you in the morning post."

"Ah! I'll bet it's from the housekeeper at the hunting lodge," Robin exclaims, practically jumping up to claim the letter. "I wrote her the other day about opening up the house and–"

"The hunting lodge?" Richard asks, scrunching his nose as he looks to his son. "That small, dank little house up north?"

"That would be the one," Robin replies, smiling as his finger slips beneath the seal. "I always enjoyed it."

"You did…"

"And I thought I might like to take Regina and the boys up for awhile." He grins as he looks to Regina and, once more, she struggles to smile back. "We thought it might be nice to do before summer ends."

"What's there to do at the lodge that you can't do at Sherwood?" Regina looks between then, watching as Robin's eyes widen incredulously at his father, as the old man sniffs his toast and sighs in annoyance at it before taking a reluctant bite. "It's so far from everything." 

"Yes," Robin nods. "That's the point."

Cutting into a slice of ham, Regina swallows hard and once more, she can feel beads of sweat collecting at her hairline. Her eyes shift to Robin as she pushes the ham around on her plate, not quite able to eat it–the smell invoking another wave of nausea.

She feels an odd sense of victory when Robin doesn't seem to notice, instead turning to her with bright, smiling eyes as he drops the letter to the table. "They're going to begin preparing the house today," he announces. "And from the sounds of it, they seem quite excited about our stay."

"There's not even a proper staff up there," Richard scoffs as stuffs a slice of ham into his mouth. "Just a butler and a housekeeper and a cook."

"That's more than enough," Regina says, her stomach flopping as his watches him chew.

"Besides," Robin adds. "We'll have John and Belle with us."

"And Celeste," Richards adds, his mouth full as he looks between them.

"Oh…"

"I don't think she'll be accompanying us," Robin says.

"And why the hell not?" Richard asks, his voice rising as he swallows his food. "You just said you were taking the children."

"Yes, but I thought–"

" _You_ thought?" Richard cuts in, looking pointedly at Regina. "You're not here for your _thoughts_."

"That was unnecessary," Robin says, his voice rising to match his father's. "You can't talk to her that way."

"Says who?" Richard scoffs. "This is _my_ house and I'll talk to any of you however I damn well please." His eyes linger on Regina, and once more, she swallows hard in an effort to push down the nausea and maintain composure. "Especially _her_."

"She's done nothing to deserve–"

"You're right! She hasn't."

"Alright," Regina cuts in. "I think I've had enough of–" She rises, but her knees wobble and she finds herself reaching for the table to steady herself, and when she looks up, both Robin and Richard are staring at her. Her eyes shift to Robin and she feels a little pang of guilt as he watches her with wide, worried eyes. "I'm fine," she insists as she lets go of the edge of the table. "I just got up too quickly."

"Just like you're just a little tired?" Robin asks as he reaches for her hand–and as soon as he does he looks up at her. "Regina, you're skin is clammy."

"I'm _fine_."

"Fine, hm?" Richard asks. "You certainly don't look it."

"Thank you for that," Regina sighs as she looks to her father-in-law. "But honestly, I just need to–"

"Lie down," Robin supplies for her. "Lie down and tell me what's really going on."

"Robin, that's–"

"Completely obvious," Richard interjects.

"Is it?"

He nods as a smile slowly edges its way onto his lips and he laughs. "She's pregnant!"

Regina feels her eyes widen. "Oh, that's…"

"You think she's–"

"Yes," Regina cuts in, deciding it'll be easier for all of them, at least in his moment, to let his father think whatever it is that he thinks and hopefully, it'll allow her a momentary peace before he's inevitably proven wrong. "That's probably it." Blinking, Robin looks to her as she shrugs, letting his arm slip around her waist. "Now, I really should lie down…"

Richard says nothing as they pass and make their way toward the stairs–and when she steps onto the first step, she feels another wave of nausea and feels vaguely dizzy as she steps back onto the main floor. Robin looks back at her from the step–and then, before she can even think of an excuse, Robin sweeps her up off the floor and into his arms.

"You do know that I'm not really pregnant," Regina tells him in a hushed voice as her arm folds down around his shoulder. "You don't have to treat me like a fragile–"

"I _know_ you're not really pregnant," Robin cuts in. "I, of all people, should know that. But I also know that you're not feeling well and you just looked at these stairs like they were the world's tallest mountain, and you might not survive the climb."

"I just felt a little… dizzy."

"More reason for you to be carried."

"Robin…"

"Please don't argue," he sighs as he starts up the stairs. "You're not well. You need to save your energy."

Rolling her eyes, she sighs, but she doesn't protest. Instead, she lets him carry her up the stairs and down the long hall toward her bedroom. She can't help but notice that he takes the long way, successfully avoiding the nursery where the boys are likely still having their breakfast–and for that, she's grateful. Though she doesn't get sick often, Henry is a worrier, and more than anyone, she doesn't want to worry him– especially so unnecessarily.

"This is a little much," she says as they cross the threshold into her room. "I'm really–"

"Do not say fine," Robin says, his brow arching as he sets her on the end. "Because you are most certainly not fine."

"It's… probably just a little bug." She sighs as she lays back against the pillows–and though she hates to admit it, she feels better laying down than she felt up right. "A nap should cure it."

"You just woke up."

"I just need a little more sleep…"

His eyes narrow. "I should send for Doctor Whale."

Her eyes flutter open to offer him a skeptical glare. "I think sending for Belle and some tea would be a better idea. It'd be a shame to make him come all the way up here from town."

"Humor me, please?"

With a sigh, she nods and closes her eyes, swallowing hard as her stomach flops and her eyelids grow heavy.

—–

Even in her sleep, she looks flushed–beads of sweat collect at her brow and her cheeks are flushed. For the better part of two hours, she's tossed and turned, whimpering and grimacing in her sleep.

For awhile, he'd sat there, not quite sure what to do. She was obviously sick, but also in denial and he wasn't quite sure where his boundaries lie, and he'd spent too long debating between what he felt she'd allow him to do and what he should do. Eventually, reason won out and he'd rang for both Belle and John. When Belle arrived he asked for a fresh pitcher of water, a cloth and an extra basin; and from John, he requested an trip to fetch Doctor Whale. He'd quickly written down her symptoms–or at least those he'd observed–and sent John into town before turning his attention back to Regina.

Wringing out the cloth in one basin, he dips his finger into the other and smiles wistfully at the candle flickering beneath it, keeping it warm. He glances to Regina as she shifts, groaning but not waking as she turns her head on the pillow, and he tries is his best to push away the memories of the last time he found himself in such a position–and he reminds himself, again and again, that Regina isn't Marian.

Her breathing grows more ragged and he looks back at her, watching the way her brow creases as her eyes open–and he can't help but think, even such a simple act that one generally does without even so much as a thought seems laborious for her.

"Mm, how long have I been asleep."

"A couple of hours," he tells her softly as he dips the cloth into the warm water. "Doctor Whale is on his way."

Regina sighs and tries to lift her head, but instead, she falls back against the pillow. "That's not really necessary."

"The fact that you can't lift your head seems to suggest otherwise."

She swallows hard as she turns her eyes up to meet his. "I just… have a dull headache."

"Did you have one before?" Her lips purse and she doesn't reply–and that's everything he needs to know. "Just… lay back and close your eyes," he tells her as he brings the cloth to her cheek and dabs it down her neck. "Just focus on breathing."

"That's easier said than done," she says, her voice biting and her brow furrows as he drags the cloth to the other side of her neck. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

"Why?"

She blinks up at him–and it occurs to him that she's not trying to be difficult, that she's genuinely curious.

"Even though you won't admit it, you're sick… and… I… care about you," he says, as he turns back to the basin, wringing out the cloth before dipping it back into the warm water. "I care about you a great deal."

From the corner of his eye, he sees a hint of a smile edge onto to her lips and she takes a breath. "I'm sure you have other things to–"

"Regina, I am where I want to be." He smiles as he turns back to her, dabbing the cloth over her brow. "Now, close your eyes and–"

Before he can even finish, her door opens and John leads Doctor Whale into the room–and his practically giddy father trails in behind him. Regina looks between them all, and he sighs as her shoulders tense at the sight of Richard.

"Um, I think perhaps we should leave Regina alone with the doctor," Robin says as he rises from the edge of her bed, looking pointedly at his father. "You know how these things are."

"Yes, yes, of course," Richard says. "Men aren't really needed at this stage of the game."

Robin blinks and it takes him a half-second to remember that his father is under the impression that Regina is merely suffering from morning sickness. Together, they walk out of the bedroom as Whale is unpacking his bag, ready to examine Regina and just before Robin closes the door, he offers her an encouraging little wink–and says a silent prayer, hoping for the best.

"This is so exciting," Richard says as soon as the door closes. "I had my doubts about her, but–"

"She's not pregnant."

Richard's smile fades. "How would you know that?"

Robin blinks, and it occurs to him, to point out the obvious–that he _would_ know that she wasn't pregnant because they hadn't actually slept together–but he doesn't. Instead, he sighs, "The symptoms aren't right."

"Sure they are–she's pale and avoiding breakfast and–"

"She has a _fever_."

"Symptoms are different in every woman."

"And _you're_ an expert in this matter?" Robin asks, his voice piquing with annoyance. "Exactly how many pregnant women have you known in your lifetime? Much less spent time with…"

Richard bristles. "That's irrelevant."

"Is it? You're assuming an awful lot."

"Well, why wouldn't she be pregnant? She's young and _obviously_ able."

Robin's eyes narrow at his father's tone, and again, he chooses not to point out the obvious. "It's unsettling, really," he says instead. "How utterly obsessed you are with collecting heirs."

"Collecting heirs?" Richard scoffs. "If that's what you call protecting my estate, then I think it a worthy _collection_."

"You have an heir," Robin says flatly. "And your heir has an heir…two, actually."

Richard's eyes widen. "That boy is _not_ my heir, and _you_ barely survived childhood. Suppose Roland has whatever maladies you had and–"

"Do you even hear yourself?" Robin asks, his voice rising and his jaw tensing. "Roland _and_ Henry _are_ my heirs, whether you approve of that or not." Taking a breath, his eyes narrow. "Besides, didn't grandfather _prove_ one _chooses_ their own heirs?"

"Your grandfather was a cavalier opportunist and a cad."

"Whom you benefited from."

Richard's shoulders square and his face goes red. "And you."

"I didn't say that I didn't," Robin says easily. "But it's not like our family legacy goes all that far back, as you like to fantasize that it does." He grins as his father's eyes widen. "And if you could be an heir to this estate, then there's no reason Henry can't be one." He laughs a little as his father's cheeks flush deeper. "Afterall, when it comes down to it, now that you've acquired so much of the Mills' land and money, he's more right to this estate than _you_."

"Ah, there you are," Whale says as he steps into the hall as Richard's eyes widen and his cheeks flush deeper. "I'm glad you didn't go too far."

"So, tell us," Richard says, clearing his throat as he steps forward. "Is she with child?"

Whale blinks. "Uh, no. No, she's not pregnant," he says, looking from Richard to Robin. "She's…"

"What a waste of a doctor's call," Richard scoffs, louder this time than before and he turns away from them as if somehow personally insulted as he sulks off toward the stairs. "A waste of everyone's time," he mutters, just loud enough to be heard.

Robin's eyes sink closed as he draws in a long breath, biting back the urge to lash out at his father; but instead, he swallows it back at looks to Whale. "So, now that we've confirmed what Regina and I already knew, what's your diagnosis?"

"Ah, right," Whale nods. "Well, it's hard to say for sure, but it appears she has the beginning stages of grippe." At that, Robin feels his stomach drop. "But appearances can sometimes be deceiving."

"Yes," Robin says, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yes, that's true."

"Either way, you'll know by tomorrow."

"Yes… yes, I know," Robin nods. "I'm familiar with it."

"Yes, of course you are," Whale says with a sigh. "How could I have forgotten?" Robin nods, offering a tight smile as his heart beats a little faster and once more he finds himself trying to push away his worst worries. "And if it is, as I suspect it is, the night will be the worst…"

"I remember…"

"Of course."

"And if she gets worse…"

"I'll send for you immediately."

"Oh, and fluids–keep her hydrated and–"

Robin nods, exhaling a shaky breath. "Yes, of course. I remember the drill."

"Right," Whale murmurs as he takes a half step forward. "I'll be in touch, then."

Robin nods and watches him go, and for a split second, he's rooted in place. As he looks in the direction of her door, he thinks about another time he stood in front of his wife's door as Whale showed himself out. There'd been a similar diagnosis and similar instructions, and he had to actively remind himself that Marian and Regina were different people with different histories. Marian had been sick for a long time. After Roland was born, she never quite recovered; instead, she was sick again and again, for longer and longer each time, until finally she was too weak to fight off the illness. But Regina wasn't Marian–and Regina was going to be fine.

He forces a smile onto his lips as he peeks into her room, finding her just where he left her–and he laughs a little as she turns her head to look at him, pouting out her bottom lip as her eyes meet his. "I really am sick," she says as though it is a surprise.

"Yeah," he nods. "You are."

"Doctor Whale said it seems like grippe," she says, her voice straining and leaving her breathless.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" He asks, closing the door behind himself as he comes into the room. "This couldn't have started just this morning."

"Yesterday," she admits. "When I was helping my mother sell needlepoints." She sighs, swallowing hard as she presses her head back into the pillow. "You can see why I didn't realize I was _actually_ sick."

He laughs as he sits down on the edge of her bed. "Do you want anything? Doctor Whale says you're supposed to stay hydrated, maybe Belle could bring up some tea or maybe she could just help you change out of–"

"I just want to sleep."

"Alright…"

"Will you… stay with me for awhile? Until I fall asleep?"

Grinning, he nods. "I can do that."

"Talk to me," she says, her voice raspy as her eyes close. "Tell me about something…"

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"The lodge," she tells him. "Tell me about it."

"Ah, well, I was hoping I could show you…"

"You will," she cuts it, letting her eyes flutter open as a little grin edges onto her lips. "But I want to hear about it now."

Taking a breath, he shifts himself up onto the bed beside her and rolls onto his side, propping his head up in his hand. "Well," he begins trying to remember the house's significant details. "It's made of stone and–"

"What color?"

"Um… different shades of brown," he says, watching as a slight smile forms on her lips as she takes deliberate breaths. "They're mostly round ones…and they're held together with some sort of mud, I think… and…" He laughs as her eyes open and her brow arches. "Okay, so, the actual house is pretty small. It's… rustic."

"Rustic? How so?"

"My grandfather was a hunter and–"

"Are there animal heads all over the place?"

"Just… in the one room."

"Oh, no…"

"But the land around it is… breathtaking."

"Tell me about that then," she says, her eyes closing again. "Tell me about the orchard."

"You remembered that."

"Mm," she says, nodding slightly. "You know I have a thing for apples."

"Yeah," he nods, as a soft smile draws onto his lips. "I do." He takes a breath and let his mind drift momentarily back to the hunting lodge, remembering the last time he was there. His grandfather was still alive then, and the butler at the hunting lodge used to let him accompany him on walks. "So, the house itself is on a hill. It's surrounding by green hills that… just sort of go on and on…"

"That sounds nice."

"It is," he tells her. "And in one of the valleys, at the bottom of one of the hills is the orchard."

"Red or green?"

"What?"

"The apples," she says, "Are they red or are they green?"

"Red," he's quick to say. "Red heirlooms."

"Those are good."

"They are," he nods. "I'm not sure if it's still there or functional, but there's a little mill at the back of the orchard. They make cider and–"

"We should check."

"Hm?"

"When we go," she says in a groggy voice. "We should check to see if the mill is still up and running."

"We can do that."

She whimpers a little as she grimaces and he feels his heart skip a beat as he watches her draw in a breath and slowly releases it. "What else?" She asks, her voice just more than a whisper–and again, he finds himself smiling in spite of everything as he thinks about walking with her through the orchard–breathing in the sweet smell of the apples as he holds her hand, leading her deeper and deeper into the orchard toward the mill. "Tell me more…"

He's not sure what triggers the memory, but once again, he finds himself smiling as he thinks of sharing it with her. "There's this little nook that's covered in twig and vines, with a swing…"

"That sounds nice," she murmurs wistfully–and then a moment later, she winces and her hand clutches at her stomach as she lurches forward, reaching for the basin at her bedside. His breath catches in his throat and he sits up, rubbing her back–and yet again, he finds himself pushing away thoughts of Marian and focusing on Regina, and hoping that this will soon pass and he'll be able to do more than just describe the beautiful landscapes that surround hunting lodge.

Robin stays with her all night, barely allowing himself to sleep as he sits at her bedside–and when morning comes, she's weak and barely lucid.

By mid-morning Doctor Whale has come and gone, confirming the diagnosis of grippe and promising to return that evening to check on her. Robin does what he can to keep her comfortable–dabbing a warm cloth to her forehead and neck, talking to her as she slips in and out of consciousness, and attempting to get her to drink water in the moment where she's awake. For the most part, though, she sleeps–babbling and moaning incoherently as she tosses and turns.

By nightfall, Whale returns, somberly explaining that if Regina makes it through the night, she should make a full recovery.

When Whale leaves, Belle comes in with a kettle of tea and a plate of meats and cheeses from the kitchen, but he doesn't touch it. Instead he asks for her to change Regina into a clean nightgown, and together, they do their best to swap out her linens. He smiles his gratitude when she says she'll check in soon and then he returns his attention to his wife.

She seems so small, laying there in a sea of blankets with her hair down and around her shoulders–and his heart aches whenever she whimpers in her sleep or her eyes flutter open momentarily before she lurches forward and reaches for the basin at her bedside. He strokes her hair and dabs her brow, lulling her back to sleep and doing his best to make her comfortable.

He turns to the table beside the bed and wrings out the cloth, and from the corner of his eye, he watches her tug the blankets up around herself. She groans and swallows hard, and for a moment he thinks she's about to wake up; but her eyes never open.

"I know," he murmurs as he turns back to her and reaches for another blanket at the foot of the bed. "Maybe another blanket will help," he tells her unnecessarily and knowing that she won't respond as he draws it up around her shoulders and tucks it beneath her arms. He smiles gently as she burrows into it, shivering as she turns her head on the pillow and turns her face toward him. For a moment, he just stares at her–and though he knows that it's just a result of the fever, he takes her pink flushed cheeks as a good sign, and reminds himself that's otherwise been healthy and she's strong, and she's endured much tougher than a bad fever.

Still, he can easily remember sitting at Marian's bedside, watching as she twisted and turned, practically delirious with fever, and he can remember how she'd practically matched the linens beneath her. The prolonged sickness had drained her color slowly and at the end, she looked more ghost-like than human.

But Regina wasn't Marian, and Regina was going to be just fine–or at least, that's what he had to tell himself, that's what he was desperate to believe.

Reaching out, he brushes the matted hair from her brow and says a silent prayer he's not quite sure will be heard, and when the door opens, he turns, expecting to see Belle, but instead, he finds himself facing his father.

"You're… not dressed," Richard says flatly as his eyes linger over him. "Dinner is in under an hour."

"Belle brought me a plate from the kitchen," Robin replies absently. "And I'm not hungry."

"That's not what I meant," Richard tells him. "You were supposed to help me entertain tonight." Robin blinks, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head, not quite following. "We discussed this. It's why I invited some of the younger men–Archibald, Jefferson and–"

"I have no interest in spending an evening with _Jefferson_ ," Robin says, making no attempt to hide his disdain. "And I thought your dinner was on Wednesday night."

"No," Richard says. "Tuesday… which is tonight."

Robin sighs. "I… forgot."

"Obviously."

"I'm sorry, I won't–"

"You _won't_?" Richard asks, his brows arching. "In under an hour, I'll have a dining room full of guests. It'd be rude not to–"

"I'm _sure_ they'll understand," Robin interjects as he looks back at his father. "My wife is ill."

"And you've been at her bedside for days."

"And…?" Robin blinks. "She's still ill."

"She has a maid for this sort of thing."

Robin's eyes widen and he feels his jaw tighten. "First of all, her maid his an eighteen year old girl who–"

"Choosing an ill-suited eighteen year old was _your_ choice."

"She's my wife," Robin says, trying in vain to keep his voice even as he rises from where he sits, not wanting to have this argument in front of Regina, who finally seems to be sleeping restfully. Walking toward his father, he pushes him into the hall and sigh loudly, as he shoves his hand into his hair. "Listen, I know you don't get it. I know you think this whole thing between us is a farce, but–"

"Isn't it?"

"No!"

Richard's eyes narrow. "You do remember _why_ you did this, right? Why you married her?"

Robin's eyes sink closed–it was never as simple as his father assumed. "Expanding the estate was… never the whole story," he sighs. "What don't you understand about that?"

"You barely know her."

"That might have been true when we married, but that's not true now."

Richard's eyes narrow. "This is about Marian isn't it?"

"What?"

"Marian–she was sick and–"

"This is _not_ about Marian."

"You still feel guilty about the night she died."

"Yes," Robin nods. "I do feel guilty about _leaving_ my wife to die _alone_ , so that you could save face in front of the hospital board." Shaking his head, he scoffs at the irony, remembering how Richard had practically begged and then bullied him into attending a dinner party that he'd arranged. He'd invited the board and he was supposed to read a pamphlet about their new health initiative; but he'd been distracted by an invitation to hunt, and couldn't admit his mistake. So, Robin had attended in his place–and when dinner was over, Marian was gone. "But this isn't about Marian. It's about Regina."

"Regina…"

"Yes, _Regina_ , who is sick and shouldn't be left alone."

"Again, she has a maid to look after her."

"And again, I don't care. _I_ want to be with her right now." He takes a breath, slowly exhaling it as he collects his thoughts. "And not because of what happened with Marian–though, the situations are eerily similar. I want to be with her because she's my wife, she's sick, and she needs comfort." Shrugging his shoulders, he sighs. "She's the only thing that matters to me right now."

For a moment, Richard doesn't reply. Instead, he just stares at his son. "Oh my god," he murmurs as his eyes narrow. "You're in love with her."

"Yes," he says easily. "I am in love with Regina."

"You fool."

Shaking his head, he sighs again. It's the first time he's said the words aloud, but it's something he's known and felt for awhile now. "You should probably go," he says dismissively. "As you, pointed out, you're about to have a room full of guests." He pauses as a snide smile edges onto his lips. "And you should probably compose yourself. You seem a little worked up and I am sure you wouldn't want to explain to your friends why that is." He laughs a little as he takes a step back. "After all, you can't let them see the real you."

He leaves his father standing in the hall and rejoins Regina. He sits down at the edge of her bed and reaches for the cloth, wringing it out and dipping it back into the warm water before dabbing it against her brow to wash away the beads of sweat–and he can't help but notice a hint of a smile on her lips as she sleeps.

Regina's eyes flutter open and she stretches out her arms, pushing at the tightly wrapped blanket around her. Batting her hand over her brow, she pulls herself up–and suddenly becomes aware that she's not the only one in the room.

"You're awake," Belle says, smiling warmly as she sets the pitcher and basin back on the table by her beside.

"Mm, I am," Regina nods. "But I'm wondering why _you_ are. It's awfully late… I think."

"You are correct," Belle confirms. "But I wanted to check in on you two."

"Two?" Regina asks, watching as Belle nods to the other side of her bed–and slowly, she turns to see Robin sleeping upright in an armchair at her beside. "Oh…"

"He's been here for days."

"Days?" Regina asks, looking back to Belle. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Off and on for a few days," Belle says, as a little chuckle rises into her voice and a grin pulls onto her lips. "And he's been with you the whole time."

"He has?"

"He has," Belle says with an easy nod. "He refused to leave to even change his clothes or eat or…" She laughs a little. "Well, do anything, really."

"That's… so sweet," Regina says, turning again to look back at Robin.

"I'm actually surprised he's sleeping."

"It sounds like he deserves it."

"He does," Belle replies as she sets a few cloths on the nightstand. "Well, I am going to go up to bed. I just put a few logs on the fire and there's fresh water for you in the pitcher and…" Regina looks back at her. "I'm really glad to see you up and awake."

"I'm glad to be awake… even if it is in the middle of the night."

Belle smiles and nods, as she says goodnight and closes the door behind herself as Regina stretches out on the bed, rolling her neck and shoulders as she rubs her hands over her face, then looks to Robin.

She can't help but smile as she watches him sleep, slumped down in the chair with his feet propped up on the opposite side of the bed. His cheeks are stubbly from not shaving and his lips are parted–and there is something so endearing about him in that moment.

Though, if she's being completely honest with herself, she often finds herself thinking that.

"I don't think I say it enough," she whispers as she rolls onto her slide, propping her head up with her hand, "But I really do appreciate everything that you've done for me." She smiles a little as she thinks of what Belle told her, about how he stayed with her and cared for her and there's a flicker of what feels like a memory or maybe a dream where he tells someone he did it because he loves her. She sighs wistfully and finds herself wishing it were more than that–and she wonders, if maybe one day, he might reciprocate what she feels for him. "I still don't quite understand why you married me," she tells him, her voice no more than a whisper, "But I am so glad that you did."

She hesitates as she watches him, staring at him and watching him sleep. "I don't like to admit this, but I don't think that Daniel and I would have made it. I think… at some point, he'd have realized that I didn't fit into the world he did, that we were too different and… those differences would have pulled us apart." Catching her lip between her teeth, she swallows back the urge to cry and she blinks back her tears. "Don't get me wrong, I loved him and I know that he loved me, but sometimes, when I look at… at the life that we have together, it just… it feels so right." Batting her hand over her eyes, she takes a breath. "It feels… the way I expected my life with Daniel to feel."

Taking a breath, she smiles as she watches him–again, watching the way his chest rises and falls. "I… I love you, Robin," she says, her smile brighten as the words fall from her lips. "I tried not to, but not falling in love with you was impossible. You're… sweet and kind, and the way you care about Henry is…" She laughs a little and shakes her head, realizing she's talking to no one other than herself, that her words are all but meaningless.

Sighing, she lays back against her pillow and shakes her head, looking back at him once more before letting her eyes sink closed–regardless, it felt good to voice her feelings, even if he didn't hear them.

And as her eyes close, his eyes open and a smile stretches across his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

He knew that she was better–that the illness had come and gone, and she was absolutely fine. It'd been days since the last of her symptoms had faded, and she was up and about, walking and talking, eating and rolling her eyes at his father's petty blustering. Doctor Whale had called it a "textbook case" and given her a clean bill of health, and she was back to her normal routines, executing them without difficulty.

She'd made a full recovery, and he _knew_ that. He could see it with his own eyes–yet he couldn't quite shake the worry that her symptoms would return with a vengeance, that he'd turn around to find her paler or breathless or gripping onto the nearest table or rail to balance herself.

After all, he'd gone down that road before…

"I don't know why you insisted on sending Belle along early," he says, crossing his arms over his chest as Regina reaches into her wardrobe and pulls out the dress she'd worn to the bazaar a couple of weeks before–and her brow furrows as she looks back to him. "I just mean…"

"I can manage on my own for _less_ than a day," she tells him. "Besides, you sent John."

"Yes, but I wasn't bedridden for–"

"Robin," she cuts in, her eyes widening as she turns. "How many times do I have to tell you, I am absolutely fine. Honestly."

"I know," he sighs. "I'm just… worried about you. I can't help it."

A smile twists onto her lips and she looks back to the dress–and he can't help but think that detail seems to please her.

Nearly a week has passed since that night at her bedside, when she'd quietly whispered her feelings while she thought he slept–and since then, he's barely had her alone. After that night, Henry was glued to her side, hardly allowing for a spare moment, let alone enough time to talk–and though there was a part of him that desperately wanted to talk, a part of him that wanted to tell her that he knew how she felt and he felt the same way about her, there was another part of him that was glad for the delay.

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her–that he didn't want to move them forward and onto something real and more fulfilling–it was just that he wasn't sure where to begin or if they were ready for that.

Besides, having a secret had its perks.

"I'm not quite sure what to take with me," she says, bringing him back into the moment. "I'm not sure how one dresses at… a hunting lodge."

He takes a step forward as she tosses the dress onto the bed, then pulls out another, plainer one. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs, watching as she examines the dress, tipping her head from side to side as her face scrunches in consideration. "It'll just be the four of us."

"And the staff."

"A staff that's not used to company."

Her brow arches. "Is that what we'll be?"

"No," he murmurs as he shakes his head. "I just mean that… I don't see the need for some of the formalities that are normal kept up." He pauses and looks to the dress on the bed, smiling warmly at the memory of her in it. "No need to dress for dinner or… anything like that."

"So, you're telling me I can leave the corsets behind."

Swallowing, he nods as she looks pointedly at him, her eyes shining mischievously as they meet his. "If… that's… what you want to do."

'That'll be nice," she murmurs as she tosses the plain dress onto the bed. "Not to have to actively think about each and every move I make." She grins as she turns to the closet. "To be able to breath with out–"

"Oh, let me," he cuts in, pushing himself forward as she reaches for a trunk on the shelf. "I can get that."

"Robin, it's empty."

"I know…"

"I can manage it."

"I'm sure you can," he says, his hands sliding against the leather trunk. "But just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

"I'm not some fragile–"

"I didn't say you were," he cuts in again, grinning as he takes the trunk into her room. "I just want to help."

"Alright," she murmurs as she follows behind. "I suppose I'll allow it."

Chuckling softly, he turns to her and his brows arch. "Allow me?"

"Yes," she nods. "After all, as you pointed out, I've sent my maid away." A grin twists onto his lips as she turns back to the wardrobe and sighs, her hands forming over her hips as she stares into it, her bottom lip pouting out in a way he can't help but find endearing. "Truly, I don't know what to pack." Looking back at him from over her shoulder she sighs. "I've never been very good at this sort of thing."

"Well, as I said, the usual rules don't really apply."

Her eyes narrow and she nods. "That's… vague."

"Just… bring along some of the things you like to wear," he tells her simply. "And… the royal blue one."

A slow grin edges onto her lips. "With the lacey front and the cream-colored piping?"

"Yes," he nods. "I like that one."

"Really? It's so plain and–"

"I like the color on you. It… suits you."

Her smile brightens and her cheeks flush slightly as she turns to the wardrobe and pulls out the blue dress. "Alright. That's… helpful," she tells him as she tosses the dress to the bed. "Help more."

"More? I… think I may have exhausted my helpfulness."

"We'll see about that," she says with a quick shrug of her shoulders. "What will we be doing? How will we be spending our days?"

"Well… it's been ages since I've been to the lodge–not since my grandfather was around–but I remember there being paths to walk, and of course the orchard and the mill." A grin edges onto his lips as her brow furrows–as though struggling to remember something. "I think you'll enjoy a walk or two–and then, of course, we'll have two very precocious little boys to entertain."

"Ah, of course…" She laughs. "Is Celeste still upset?"

He grimaces. "I… don't know. I haven't checked."

"We're terrible…"

"Something I've been told she's told my father umpteen times, using _very_ colorful language."

"Oh, I'm sure of it."

"I heard she threatened to give up her post." He laughs as Regina's eyes widen, flashing briefly with excitement. "But…"

"Oh…"

"My father convinced her otherwise."

"Naturally…"

He smiles as she sighs, and he sits down on the bed beside the growing pile of dresses. "Can these go in the trunk?" He asks as he draws up the blue dress as she nods. "There's a pond. I'm sure the boys will love that." She smiles. "They enjoy the one here so much."

"Yes, they do."

"This one has reeds growing all around it and lily pads floating it it."

Her smile brightens as she turns to them. "Roland will _love_ that," she tells him. "Given his recent obsession with frogs."

"He will…"

"I'm sure they could spend a whole day, wading and trying to catch tadpoles and–"

"Let's make a day of it, then," he suggests. "Why not?"

"I… don't see any reason we couldn't," she says. "And I've just the skirt for wading."

"Do you?" He asks, watching curiously as she turns back to the wardrobe. "I can't…" His voice trails off as she turns back to him, holding up a skirt he's never seen before–and for good reason. It's an older style, meant to be worn with layers of petticoats and a bell-shape that was fashionable a generation before. The pink fabric is adorned by little green ivy leaves–and arranged in a way that makes him squint and want to look away… yet somehow makes that impossible. "Wh-where did that come from?"

"My mother."

He blinks. "Oh…"

"It had a matching hat."

"Had?"

"Yes," she nods. "But… I lost it on a windy day." Robin's eyes shift to hers–and a moment later, they're both laughing. "I'm not sure if it was a gift or a punishment, but regardless, I am sure you understand why Ruby is such a breath of fresh air."

"Yes," he says with a nod as his laugh fades and his eyes shift back to the skirt. "I do."

"But it seems a perfect outfit for stomping through mud, don't you think?"

Again he nods and looks back to her–watching as she giggles and looks down at the skirt in her hand, then shaking her head she tosses it down beside him and turns back to her wardrobe, tapping her fingers against the door as she considers.

She looks happy, he thinks–happy and healthy, but then his thoughts shift and he finds himself wondering if this is all too much too soon.

In the months since Regina's come to live at Sherwood, he's been unable to notice the disregard she shows herself–always brushing her own welfare aside for the sake of someone else, ignoring the things that bother her and keeping a stiff upper lip, never admitting that she's not invincible.

At times, those traits could be endearing. Though most of it seems innate–so wrapped up in every fiber of her being–she was so selflessly committed to those she cared for, especially to her son. And though he'd never fault her for that, he worried that in trying to what everyone else needed, she'd sacrifice herself–and one day, the price of her sacrifice would be too high.

"As long as you're feeling up to that," he says as his stomach flops and his jaw tightens. "After all…"

"Robin, I really am fine," she answers dismissively. "And while stomping around a muddy pond isn't necessarily my idea of a fun afternoon," she turns to him an a sly little smile tugs onto her lips, "I've a feeling I'm outnumbered."

"I… might have enjoyed an afternoon or two like that as a boy, and I won't deny that I wouldn't mind sharing that experience with my sons, but," he stops, momentarily watching the way her smile warms–and then, he feels himself tense. "You know, we could go next–"

"No," she cuts in, turning sharply to face him. "We've already delayed long enough, and the boys already had to be disappointed once."

"They understood."

She nods. "Of course they did, but you can't deny they weren't itching to go and then–"

"It's not like the lodge is going anywhere."

"Robin," she sighs as her head tips to the side. "Doctor Whale even said the fresh air would be good for me."

"I know, but I can't help worr–"

"You don't have to do that," she interjects in a soft voice. "I appreciate the sentiment, but honestly. I'm fine." Robin nods and takes a breath as she takes a few steps forward, hesitating only a moment before pressing a soft and fleeting kiss to his cheek. "But it's sweet of you to care."

"Well, I… I care about you."

She nods, drawing in a short breath as she looks down at him–and for a moment, he thinks she might try for a better kiss. But instead, she smiles and turns away to focus her attention on her wardrobe–and he feels a strange mix of disappointment and excitement.

"I'm going up to my parents' this afternoon," she murmurs. "I thought my father might like to see Henry before we go and I was wondering if you'd mind me taking Roland along."

"Not at all."

"Thank you," she says absently as she reaches into the wardrobe. "I won't be long. I won't be able to tolerate my mother for an entire afternoon."

A chuckle rises up from his chest–and once again, he feels a sense of excitement tingling . "And then, we'll be on our way by nightfall."

Something flashes behind her eyes as she turns to him. "Is your father still annoyed by that particular detail?"

"Mm, of course. He perseverated on it all through breakfast."

"I'm sure he did." Shaking her head, she laughs darkly. "Did he suggest the possibility of his heir being eaten by coyotes again? That's my favorite."

"Twice," Robin confirms with a sigh. "But I think he was even more horrified when I suggested we might stop and stay the night in a pub."

"How scandalous!" She returns as she plucks another dress from the wardrobe and tosses it to the pile beside him. "I'm such a terrible influence on you."

"My father would agree…"

Looking up, she laughs out, her eyes shining as she shakes her head–and once more, he feels excitement prickling at his skin and he finds himself wishing that he could speed up time.

Her shoulders tense as the carriage draws closer and closer to her childhood home–a large and unwelcoming Gothic-style estate named Dragon's Head. She takes a short breath and watches as Roland's brow furrows with concern as the house comes into the view–and she smiles, as reaches out and rubs two fingers over his cheek, offering him a quick and comforting little wink.

Henry, on the other hand, moves to the window, perching there as he takes in in the large copper dragon's head that adorns the top of the gate as it creaks open, permitting them entry. He smiles at it–and she laughs softly at his amusement, remembering the first time he'd seen them just more than a year before when they'd arrived at Dragon's Head with her father. That had been such a terrible day, she remembers–but Henry pointing and laughing at the ominous dragon that was meant to intimidate made it somewhat less terrible, and even on that day, had even managed to make her smile.

"It's not so scary," she whispers to Roland as she pulls him onto her lap. "They're just just Henry's dragon."

"I like that dragon," Roland admits, looking to her with wide eyes. "He's fun to play with."

She nods, "Well, you can't exactly play with these dragons but–"

"Will they bite?" Roland asks, swallowing hard as his eyes grow even wider. "Or breathe fire on us?"

"No, no," she's quick to say. "Nothing like that. They're just… there. They're not real and they don't do… anything, really. Not like the dragons Henry likes to play with."

Roland nods and looks skeptically toward the window as they pass two dragon statues that lead up to the main road to the house. She cuddles him closer and kisses the top of head, his messy curls tickling her nose as they round a bend that leads to the house.

"Do we have to go inside?" Roland whispers, leaning back and looking up at her.

"Unfortunately, we do," she sighs, offering him a half-hearted smile. "But we won't be long."

The carriage slows as she looks to the window, unable not to notice the lack of welcoming party–a obvious nod at her lack of importance. Taking a breath she waits for the driver to open the door and Henry is first to jump down. Steading Roland on her hip, she waits for the driver to offer his hand to help her from the carriage. She hesitates for a moment, but Henry runs forward, knocking his little fist against the thick door as he bounces with excitement.

She's glad that Henry has happy memories of this house–most of which she can attribute to her father. Though their own relationship was a tense one, her father loved his grandson, and prior to Roland, her father had been her son's favorite playmate and companion.

She'd been miserable after her return to Dragon's Head–though, she'd venture to say she was miserable long before it, too–and she'd taken to hiding in her rooms and sleeping late. She didn't have to be the sole caretaker of her son and could sleep in until the sun was high. As a child, she'd learned to drown out her mother's screams–and it was a skill she'd really honed in on throughout her adolescence. In those first few weeks, she'd often wake in the middle of the day, and finally she'd draw the shades, letting in the sun–and more often than not, she'd look down at the gardens to find Henry and her father taking a walk or reading together on a bench; other times, they'd be picking flowers or flying kites or doing something else that made Henry smile and made her remember why she'd bothered waking up that day.

Holding Roland a little closer, she reaches for the door knocker–a horned dragon with large fangs–and she rasps it against the door as Roland hides his face in the crook of her neck.

The door swings open and the Butler sees them in, directing them to the drawing room where Cora waits with tea. After just a few steps in, she sees her father jogging down the large staircase with his arms outstretched–and she can't help but smile as Henry runs to him. He sweeps him up and holds him at his side, asking how the ride was and whether or not he wanted tea before going on a little adventure. Regina laughs as Henry quickly declines the tea and her father says hello to her, smiling warmly as he brings Henry down the stairs.

"You're looking well, Regina," he says, leaning in a pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'm glad to see you up and about."

She nods. "I'm finally feeling better."

"You gave us all quite the the scare."

"I know," she nods. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. In fact, I didn't even know that you knew until–"

"Robin sent us a note that first night," her father cuts in. "I came to visit, but you were–"

"Oh, I don't remember that…"

"You were sleeping, mostly," he tells her. "Robin seemed to be taking such good care of you."

"Yes," she says, nodding as a smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "He's been… wonderful."

"I'm glad."

"What are we going to do today, Grandpapa?" Henry asks, his voice impatient. "You said we'd have an adventure."

"I did, didn't I?" Henry nods. "Well, you know those flower arrangements your grandmother likes so much?" Again, Regina watches as Henry nods. "Well, I've gone around and cut off some of the tops of the flowers and–"

"I'm sure mother's thrilled about that."

Her father blinks. "She doesn't know."

"Ah…"

"Well," he says, beginning again as he clears his throat. "I've collected them in a bag and I was thinking we could go down to the kitchens and boil them."

Henry's eyes widen. "Why?"

"To make dyes."

"For what?"

"Well, I was thinking we could color eggs."

"Eggs? You mean… ones for eating?"

"Yes, for eating," he replies, chuckling softly as he smiles at his grandson. "Wouldn't you like to eat a _blue_ egg or maybe a _red_ one?" Regina smiles as Henry laughs out. "Let's go before your grandmother discovers I've cut off off the tops of all her precious flowers and gets mad." Looking up, her father looks to Regina and Roland and holds out a hand. "You can come, too, lad. Wouldn't you like a _green_ egg?"

Roland's lip catches between his teeth as he looks to Regina. "Doesn't that sound fun?" She asks him. "Making _green_ eggs?" She grins. "Wouldn't you like to have an egg for lunch that matches your jacket?"

Roland giggles and nods, then picks his head up from her shoulder and looks shyly to her father. "Come on, now," he says, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. "We'll make enough for lunch _and_ for you to have to take home to your papa."

"Yeah, come on, Roland!" Henry chimes in. "It'll be fun!"

Roland wriggles away from her and she grins as her father scoops him up, lifting him onto the hip opposite from Henry and giving him a bag of flower heads to hold onto–and almost astutely blocking a large mahogany dragon carved into the staircase. "Shall we, then, boys?" He asks, as he asks as he looks between them. "Ready for lunch?"

"Oh," Cora sighs, rolling her eyes. "You've brought the children."

"Don't worry, mother, you won't need to interact with them," Regina sighs. "Daddy's taking them to make eggs." Cora's eyes widen, but she only sighs; and without saying anything more, her father turns away from them and heads toward the stairs that lead to the kitchens. "Lucky you, you're only stuck with me."

Cora's eyes narrow. "What color is that dress? Is it blue? Purple?"

"Oh, um…periwinkle," Regina says, looking down at herself. "It's a mix of the two, I suppose."

"Hm," Cora says, letting her eyes trail over the dress. "I'm not sure that's a good color on you. It washes you out and makes you look… ill."

Regina's jaw tightens as her mother turns away, walking into the drawing room–and with a sigh, Regina follows. "Well, perhaps that's because I was ill recently."

"Yes. Robin told us."

"Daddy came to visit, I hear."

Cora nods as she sits down at a tea table in front of the hearth. "Yes. He did."

"I see…"

"You normally don't visit," Cora says, changing the subject and she reaches for the porcelain tea pot at the center of the table. "What do we owe this pleasure?"

"Robin and I are going away for awhile–a week, at least–and we're taking the boys with us," she says, taking a few tentative steps forward. "I thought Daddy might like to see Henry before we go."

Cora's tongue clicks. "I hate that you call him that."

"What?" She asks, as she slides into the seat across from her mother and overturns the tea cup sitting on the saucer.

"Daddy," Cora says, practically shuddering at the word. "It sounds so… childish."

"Well, I am his child," Regina says, drawing in a long breath. "And regardless, it's what I was taught to call him."

Cora only sighs and shakes her head, and then she pours the tea. Regina adds a little lemon and sugar and for while, they just sit together, sipping their tea in silence. They've never been very good at casual conversation, and sometime not long after Regina return to Dragon's Head, they'd given up even their most feeble attempts. Long ago, she'd accepted that she and her mother would never be close–they were simply far too different for that–but still, the silence was painful and made the minutes crawl by.

"Robin and I are going away to–"

"Yes," Cora interjects. "You told me."

Regina's jaw tightens. "Yes, but I never say to _where_."

"Ah…"

"His family has a hunting lodge up north. We thought we'd take the boys, and Doctor Whale says the fresh air would do me a world of good."

Cora's eyes narrow. "That dank little cabin?"

"You've been there?"

Cora chin tips up. "Not by choice."

"That sounds… like it could be quite the story."

"A dull one," Cora scoffs.

"But a story, nonetheless."

Cora sighs. "Richard's father was fond of the place," she says, finally. "Likely because he'd been carrying on an affair with the housekeeper." Regina's eyes widen. "I was just a girl, then, but even I knew it," she says, shaking her head. "He always was a cad, but I'm sure Lady Adelaide hadn't a clue, that poor old thing."

"Lady Adelaide?"

"The old lady whose fortune the Locksley's…um… for lack of a more appropriate term… inherited."

"Oh…"

Cora shrugs as reaches for the teapot. "I suppose she had to leave her fortune to someone. That crazy old spinster probably would have just left to to her cats, but…" She sighs. "It's a pity it went to someone so… loathsome."

"Richard…"

"And his father, Edgar," Cora says, shaking her head as she practically shudders with distaste. "The whole lot of them."

"The Locksley's aren't all bad," Regina says, her voice piquing in defense. "Robin is a–"

"A good man," Cora cuts in. "Yes, you've told me."

Regina's lips part, but before say can say anymore, the sound of Henry and Roland laughing diverts her attention. She watches as the boys run into the drawing room. Henry carries a basket of colorful eggs with him and Roland's fingertips and lips are green, and both boys are red-cheeked and smiling.

"Mama, mama," Henry calls. "We made you some eggs!"

"Oh, and they're so pretty!"

"I bit into mine," Roland tells her, pointing to his lips. "I wanted to know what green tasted like."

Henry giggles. "I told him not to."

Regina only laughs as she looks up at her father, watching as he shakes his head and smiles–and though he doesn't say anything, she can tell that he enjoyed spending time with the boys. Henry climbs up onto a chair between her and Cora, and she lifts Roland onto her lap. Ignoring her mother's scowl, she reaches for two of the otherwise ignored biscuits at the center of the table and sets them on her plate, pushing it between the boys.

"Roland," she murmurs softly. "I'm going to set you down and clean you up, _then_ you can have your biscuit, alright?" Roland nods and slides off of her lap, and turning himself toward her, he holds out his green hands. "Well, hopefully I _can_ get you cleaned up. Otherwise you might be green forever!"

At that, both boys giggle. "I'll help!" Roland declares before running around the table and reaching for a pitcher of water–and before she can stop or help him, his little hands fold around the handle and it comes crashing down to the floor, spilling and splashing everywhere.

Roland's eyes widen, almost immediately filling with tears. "I- I'm sorry."

"It's alright, sweet–"

"Look at what you did!" Cora snaps, standing up and forcing back her chair. "Just look at what you've done to my skirt!" She points to a few water spots and her eyes widen with rage. "Look!"

"I didn't mean–"

"You shouldn't even _be_ here," Cora snaps as her hand draws back and instinctively, Roland winces–but her hand never meets his cheek. Instead, Regina catches it, her fingers gripping her mother's wrist, pressing into her skin hard enough to leave little indents.

"Don't you dare," Regina says in a low voice. "Do not touch him."

"Look at the mess he made."

"I don't care. It's just water. It can be cleaned up," Regina says, her voice still low as she holds her mother's gaze. "You are not to lay a finger on him. Do you understand?" Cora's eyes narrow as her father rounds the table and reaches for Roland's hand, leading him away from Cora. Regina feels her jaw tighten, her heart pounding as she stares into her mother's eyes and her grip on her wrist tightens. "If you _ever_ harm him, in _any_ way, I swear you will regret it."

"And what are _you_ going to do about it?"

Dropping her mother's hand, she pushes her back. "You forget, mother, the only reason you're allowed to stay here and live the life that you do, the life you're so used to, is because of me. It's because of my husband that you were allowed to save your name and your dignity and all your stuck-up friends don't need to know the truth about you." A cool smile edges onto her lips. "But I swear, if you touch him–either of them–you'll live to regret it." Taking a step in, her smile deepens and Cora's jaw tightens. "I'll make sure of that."

Taking a breath, she turns to her father. "I… think it's time for us to go."

Sighing, he nods. "I'm glad you came, and… I'm so sorry that it… that…"

"I know."

"Thank you for the eggs, Grandpapa," Henry says in a small voice.

"I'm glad you liked them. I'm glad that _both_ of you liked them," he says in an earnest voice, bending to kiss the tops of the boys heads. "Perhaps the next time we make them, it'll be in _your_ kitchen. You can tell me all about this wonderful holiday you're going on."

"I'd like that," Henry tells him, as he reaches for Roland's hand and gives it a little tug, leading him out of the drawing room. Regina lingers for a moment, staring wordlessly at her mother, unable to believe that she'd reached a new level of cruelty and leaving her to wonder if had bounds.

Sighing, her father's hand pushes at the small of her back and he leads her back to the foyer and he lets the butler know their carriage needs to be pulled around. He doesn't say anything after that, and they all stand together in silence–then, finally, when the carriage is pulled in front of the house, she helps Henry in. Her father gives her a quick kiss goodbye and she tugs Roland into her lap as she carriage starts down the path away from the house–and she finds herself wishing that Roland still thought the scariest thing that lived there might be a dragon.

No one's around when they return to Sherwood.

With Roland on her hip and Henry by the hand, she leads the boys up to the nursery. Roland hasn't spoken since his interaction with Cora, and Henry's barely said more than a few words. When she suggests a nap, neither of them protest or even so much as request a story–and that alone breaks her heart.

She helps them change into their night clothes and Henry crawls into bed, yawning as he cuddles against the pillow; and then, and she cuddles up with Roland. She rubs large, sweeping circles over his little back and strokes his hair.

"Regina?" He asks in a hushed voice. "Are you awake?"

"I am, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry."

"I didn't mean to… to spill the water and make her mad."

"I know you didn't. None of what happened was your fault."

"I-I just… I just wanted.. t-to help," he tells her as tears roll down his cheeks and he hiccups into her dress. "It… it was h-heavy an-d I…"

"It's okay, sweetheart. I know you didn't mean to spill it." Leaning in, she presses a kiss to his messy curls and cuddles him a little closer. "It's okay. I've got you and she can't hurt you."

"I just–"

"It's okay, Roland," she cuts in, her voice soft as she rubs his back. "Everything's alright now."

She feels him nod and he sniffles a few times as he burrows against her–and then, just a few minutes later, he's asleep…

She's vaguely aware of the door opening and of footsteps too clunky to be Celeste's coming near–and then, she smells the soft scent of pine.

"Hi, Robin," Henry says in a little voice as he pulls himself up. "We're having a nap."

"I can see that," Robin says, sitting down on the end of Henry's bed, making the bed springs creak slightly. "Or, at least they are."

"Yeah," Henry sighs. "I didn't want to bother them."

"That was thoughtful," Robin tells him. "Did you have a busy afternoon?"

"No," Henry tells him. "Not really. We just went to visit my grandparents."

"Ah, that's right. Your mama told me she was taking you two."

"I wish we didn't go…" Regina's eyes sink closed and she holds her breath, hating that she'd even suggested a trip to Dragon's Head. Initially, she'd simply planned to send a note to her father, letting him know that they were leaving that day and if he wanted to see Henry, he was more than welcome to come over for luncheon. But, then she'd thought it'd be nice to have a little outing–and she knew that her father couldn't always get away and when he was able, Cora usually accompanied him. At least at Dragon's Head, she could be contained, occupied by whatever it was she did to occupy herself throughout the day, and most importantly, without Richard to bicker senselessly with. "Grandmother yelled at Roland."

"Oh.. what… what happened?"

Henry sigh. "He accidently knocked over some water."

"I see…"

"Mama yelled at her."

"Your mama yelled at your grandmother?"

"Uh huh," Henry tells him. "She was _really_ mad and then we left."

For a moment, Robin doesn't reply–ands he can only wonder what he's thinking. She feels a pang of guilt stabbing at her core, hating that she put Roland in a situation that put him in her mother's line of fire. She should have known better than that–after all, she knew her mother better than most. She should have known that, eventually, her mother's dislike for the Locksleys would extend to even the littlest among them, that her resentment of the family would eventually boil over the top–and Cora Mills was never one to fight fair or known for her rational demeanor. She put Roland on her mother's turf–and it was her fault that he spent the better part of the late afternoon in tears.

"Well, before that happened, did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," Henry admits softly. "Grandpapa boiled some flowers and we dyed eggs and then we _ate_ them."

"You ate colored eggs?"

"Uh huh," Henry giggles–the bed creaking as he reaches for the basket of eggs on his nightstand. "Do you want one? We have lots of extras."

"Oh," Robin breathes out. "Yes. Yes, I do… I'll take a green one."

"Roland made the green ones," Henry tells him. "He bit into the shell because he wanted to know what green tasted like." Henry giggles. "It tastes like grass."

"Ohh, noooo," Robin laughs. "Well, I will take a green _and_ a yellow."

"I didn't bite into the yellow ones so I don't know if it tastes bad," Henry tells him, in a serious tone. "But you have to peel away the shell before you eat it, just like a regular egg."

"Thank you for the advice," Robin tells him as a little smile draws onto her lips, listening to the soft way he speaks to her son. "I will save them for when I'm ready for a snack." Robin pauses for a moment, and Henry doesn't say anything, but she can hear the soft cracking of an egg shell. "You know, I spent all morning teasing your mom about sending her maid up to the hunting lodge and having to pack all by herself, but… I've done the exact same thing, and unlike your mother, I haven't the slightest idea what to pack." He pauses for a moment and she can practically feel Robin smiling at Henry. "Can you help me?"

"Yeah! That sounds fun!"

"I hope so…"

"Will you pack a trunk?"

"Yes, just with some clothes and things. The rest of what we're taking along went with John and Belle."

"Can I look at your cufflinks?"

Robin chuckles softly. "Of course, but you need to do a couple of things first."

"Sure," Henry says easily. "Like what?"

"Well, for starters, finish that egg…"

"These ones are big," Henry tells him. "Grandpapa was telling me how they got a goose to lay eggs, instead of just the chickens. The cook there likes to make them with special meals, but the goose lays _a_ _lot_ of a eggs."

"Well, it's a good thing your grandpapa found a use for them."

"I'm glad we didn't stay too long though," Henry admits. "I mean, I didn't want to leave because grandmother was upset, but… I like it better here."

"You do?" Robin asks brightly. "That's good news because _I_ really like having _you_ living here. It's nice to have a family of my own here."

"Yeah," Henry agrees, between bites of his egg. "So, what else do I have to do to look at the cufflinks?"

Robin laughs and stands up, the bed creaking again at the movement. "Well, you'll have to put on some pants."

"Oh…"

"Can't have you running around in your nightshirt." Henry giggles as Robin lifts him from the bed, swinging him around before setting him down on the floor. "So, how about you get yourself dressed and meet me in my room."

Henry doesn't reply, but she can hear him run off to the adjoining dressing room. She can still feel Robin standing there, hovering at Roland's beside–and just as she thinks to roll over and thank him for being so sweet with her son, he takes a few steps toward her and Roland. He sits down at the edge of the bed and rubs his hand over her arm and over Roland's hip, and he leans in, breathing them in.

"I love you," he murmurs softly, nuzzling against her cheek and kissing Roland's temple before slowly withdrawing from them, leaving her heart to beat wildly as wonders who exactly he was talking to and quickly rationalizing that that he was, of course, talking to his son–his incredibly sweet and lovable son.

They leave Sherwood after a light dinner, much to Richard's disapproval–and by sundown, they're well past the village and on the path that will eventually lead them to the hunting lodge.

For the first part of the trip, the boys kneel in the back of the carriage, watching as they pass through town and long expanses of green pastures. Roland giggles as they roll past a crowd of cows, chewing on tall grass and watching almost judgmentally as their carriage passes them. But it's not long before the sun is setting and Henry is yawning–and then, both boys are sprawled out on the padded benches, soundly asleep as the carriage rolls on.

"We should stop soon," Robin says. "My father is wrong about a lot of things, but he wasn't wrong when he said it'd be dangerous to travel at night."

"Just… a little farther," Regina says, looking up at sign she can barely read–but a sign she doesn't necessarily have to read. "Maybe at the next town."

"Oh, I thought…"

"Just a little longer," she insists. "It's such a nice night, and the breeze feels so good."

Robin hesitates for a moment, as he tugs on the reins of their horse and turns the carriage onto the road leading into the town–and he can't help but notice the way Regina's shoulders tense. "Alright," he says, looking over at her. "As long as that's the only reason you don't want to stop now."

"It is," she says, too quickly to be convincing.

He watches as she looks to the side, staring blankly at a row of buildings as they pass. She keeps her head down, but her eyes cast up, and as they pass a little tavern and inn, she sucks in a breath–and suddenly, he understands. He doesn't say anything though; instead, he slides a little closer, shifting the reins into one hand as he loops his arm around her waist, smiling when her head falls to his shoulder as they continue on through the town.

Finally, after a long expanse of darkness, he spots a lantern light in the distance–and finally, they've reached the next town. Robin pulls into the first inn they see, and a man greets them at the entrance. Robin helps Regina down from the carriage and then opens the door, scooping up Roland first and then Henry. He transfers the smaller child to Regina as they go inside, and the man drives their carriage into the stables for safe keeping.

Quickly, he rents a room for the night and they settle the boys on one of the small beds, then settle together on the other–and Regina offers him a sheepish grin.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says. "We should have stopped. It's so late and–"

"There's no need to apologize."

"Isn't there?" She asks, looking up at him. "I mean, not only for that but… I heard you talking to Henry this afternoon. I know that you know about what happened with Roland at my parents."

" _That_ was not your fault."

"I brought him there."

"We're not responsible for the actions of our parents, Regina. I, of all people, know that."

"But I know how she is, and I–"

"And _you_ were there to comfort him," he cuts in. "And so was Henry." A little smile draws onto his lips as he looks over at her. "Henry said that you told her off."

"I did," Regina admits, chuckling softly as she grimaces. "I… think I threatened her. It's… it's kind of a blur."

"Based on the very little that I've seen, Angry Mama Bear Regina is _quite_ the force to be reckoned with." A that, she laughs out and shakes her head–and he hopes it goes without saying how grateful he is that his son will grow up with her as a mother. He sighs a little–there's so much that he hopes she know, so many things he wants to tell her. But now is neither the time or the place for that. "As for the other thing…"

"Oh, we don't have to talk about that."

"Well, we don't _have_ to, but I've got a hunch and I'd like to know if I'm right," he says rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his hand as she nods, allowing his question. "That little tavern we passed in the last town, that was where you lived with Daniel, isn't it?"

"It is," she confirms. "I just… I couldn't go back there."

"That's understandable."

"I just…" She sighs as her eyes sink closed, and a part of him regrets asking. "The last time I was there, I was just in such a bad place. I was…" Her voice trails off and her eyes open. "I thought losing Daniel would we be the worst if it. I mean, how could it get worse than that? But… it did. It got so much worse."

"We don't have to talk about it. I shouldn't have asked. I should have known that…"

"It's alright," she cuts in. "I don't mind talking to you about it." She smiles a little–and for a moment, all he can think of his how much he wants to pull her into his arms and hold her, to kiss away all of the painful memories. But again, it's neither the time nor the place. "As we passed by I started to think about some of the happier memories, memories from before Daniel died and…" She sighs. "I started thinking about this ridiculous little puppet that Daniel made Henry when he was a baby."

"The dragon…"

"You remembered," she says with a smile.

"Of course…"

Shaking her head, her smile brightens. "I was… struggling. I was always struggling with someone, it seemed. But that day, I missed my father. I was…" She sighs. "I wanted Henry to have some sort of relationship with him. I wanted my son to know his grandfather, but that seemed so impossible."

"I'm sure…"

"My mother was _very_ clear about how she felt about the situation and I knew that I couldn't go back."

"Did you want to go back?"

"Sometimes," she says in a small voice. "I loved Daniel more than I can even say, but I wasn't used to that sort of life and I don't think I ever fully adjusted to it."

"I would imagine being the wife of a barkeep would be an adjustment, given how you were raised."

She nods. "But, telling Daniel that was… almost impossible. He didn't quite understand it and whenever I started to talk about how I felt, I… I couldn't help but think I sounded like a spoiled brat."

"I doubt he'd have thought that."

"I thought it," she admits, shaking her head as she takes in a long breath, then slowly releases it as she looks back to him. "So, one day, Daniel suggested maybe we could try to visit."

"Visit your parents?"

"At Dragon's Head?"

She nods. "And, I knew that would go poorly. I just… knew. There was no way to plan it, really. My mother wasn't allowing letters and she scares the servants in that house absolutely witless, so there's no chance any of them would have dared defy her to deliver a note to my father."

"And just dropping by would have been a disaster."

"Exactly," she nods. "An expensive disaster."

"It is far…"

"But Daniel knew that I wanted to see him and so he suggested it, and I…" Her voice trails off. "And I lied and said that I didn't want to go."

"Did he know you lied?"

"I think so," she sighs. "I told him that even if I did, there's no reason I should traumatize Henry by taking him there." She grins. "You know, with all of the scary dragons chiseled into everything, literally popping out of the woodwork at every turn."

He chuckles softly. "That's… actually sort of a valid argument for not bringing a small child to that house. It's a little scary for me, and I'm a grown man."

Regina laughs softly, "It didn't used to be so scary, not when my grandparents lived there."

"No?"

"No," she tells him, shaking her head. "Dragon's Head wasn't always called Dragon's Head. It used to be called something else… I can't quite remember what, exactly, but… I think it was named after a flower or something much less intimidating." Her brow furrows slightly. "Whatever it was, it wasn't a very fitting name for a house with its exterior." A slight grin tugs onto his lips. "Then, when my parents moved in, my mother wanted the house to have a name that exuded power and control and… well… fear."

"Well, Dragon's Head certainly does that."

"She's never been one for subtlety."

"Something she has in common with my father."

"Yes," she says, nodding as she rolls her eyes–and then her expression changes to one he can't quite understand. "So, Daniel made Henry a dragon puppet, so that should I ever take him to Dragon's Head, he wouldn't be afraid." She smiles sadly. "I… I sometimes think it was his way of giving me an out."

"Or trying to make his wife and child happy."

"Maybe."

"Regina…"

"It doesn't matter now," she cuts in, scoffing and shaking her head. "I just… found myself thinking of that as we passed by the tavern."

"He loved you, Regina."

"I don't doubt that."

"Good."

"I just…" She sighs. "Sometimes,it just… hurts to think about our life together."

"So much of it is bittersweet."

"Yes," she says in a barely audible voice as she looks away and focuses up at the ceiling. "That's true."

"Based on the things you've told me," he says slowly, waiting for her to look over at him. "I would venture to say that it was more sweet than bitter."

"It was," she agrees. "It's just… hard to remember that sometimes."

He smiles and sighs–and for a few moments, he lets his thoughts shift to Marian, thinking about how her death made even the happiest moments difficult to remember, tainting the memories of her laugh and her smile, making him wish he'd said and done things differently in hopes that one of those changes–no matter how slight–might have somehow changed the outcome of her fate, that had anything been different, she might have lived.

"We're quite the pair," he sighs absently as he returns his attention to Regina.

"We are," she nods as a little smile creeps onto her lips and shines through her eyes. "Though I have to admit, it's… it's nice to have someone who understands."

"That is nice," he agrees. "Very nice."

Taking a breath, he leans in and presses an all too quick kiss to her forehead. "We should get some sleep," he tells her as he pulls back. "We've got a long day ahead of is tomorrow."

"We do…"

"There are a few stops along the way where we can stop for luncheon… or at least there were twenty-some years ago."

At that, Regina laughs. "I'm sure there's _something_."

"Something sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it? I'm looking forward to it."

A grin pulls onto his lips as he leads forward and blows out the candle at their bedside, leaving only the low flame at the hearth to light the room. "Yes, me too," he tells her quietly. "I am very much looking forward to tomorrow."

They leave the inn just after breakfast, stopping intermittently along the way whenever the boys got restless. Their longest break was around mid-day for luncheon, eating bully beef sandwiches pickles at a table near window. The boys watched people and carriages passed along the coastline and when they tired of that, they entertained themselves with a deck of cards Regina almost magically supplied. With the luncheon, she and Robin split a pint of ale, while the boys enjoyed glasses of raspberry cordial–and when they were finished, they took a short walk along the coast, soaking their feet in the wet sand and breathing in the sea air.

The outing succeeded in tuckering out the boys long enough for a nap and they slept in the carriage as it rattled on through another stretch of green countryside. They woke in time for dinner—another pub meal and one Regina insisted should be healthier. She ordered them all cod and a vegetable medley as all three boys pouted, and sighed in resignation when their waiter brought it out to them fried–and she didn't even bother to protest when the waiter returned at the end of the meal with two enormous slices of strawberry rhubarb pie topped with whipped cream. The boys dove into the pie immediately and she and Robin exchanged frowns at the realization that the pie would not be shared.

Once the bill was paid and the boys were loaded back into the carriage, it wasn't long before they were asleep and as the sun set, they decided to keep going on instead of finding an inn for the night…

The road is dark and they sit closely with a thick blanket around their shoulders with only to dimly lit lanterns to light the way–and there's a part of her didn't want to reach the hunting lodge, a part of her that would have been more than content to spend the rest of the night just as they were.

"It's not far now," Robin tells her in a loud whisper. "We'll be there within the hour, I'd say."

She smiles and nods as her eyes closer and her head falls to shoulder, and she murmurs something about being glad.

"I can't wait to show you around," he tells her, his voice chipper and sounding as though he hadn't spent the better part of the last sixteen hours driving a carriage in the open air. "That'll of course have to wait until morning, but…" His voice trails off and he laughs. "I'm looking forward to it nonetheless."

"I'm looking forward to it, too. I feel like we've been talking about this house for weeks."

"That's because we have."

"Oh, that's… true," she says, chuckling softly as she lifts her head. "And I am _sure_ it'll live up to the expectation."

"I certainly hope so," he says, looking over at her. "Did you doze off?"

"For a few minutes…"

"Or an hour."

"Oh," she murmurs, her cheeks flushing as she stretches out her arms in front of herself. "Sorry. It's incredibly unfair of me to nap when you've–"

"Don't apologize," he cuts in. "You needed some rest."

"Robin, you know I'm not sick any–"

"That's not what I mean," he interjects with a soft laugh. "I've been watching the road and a very well-trained horse. You've been managing two very energetic little boys." He grins over at her. "You played 'I Spy' for almost an hour and a half when the only thing there was to look at was green grass. I've had it easy in comparison."

"Well, there were a few dilapidated barns along the way."

"And those judgemental cows."

She laughs. "I forgot about the cows. They _did_ look judgmental, didn't they?"

Nodding, he laughs, too. "This is the road that leads to the lodge. It cuts through the woods, so it's about to get much darker." Grinning, she nods and takes it as an opportunity to edge herself closer to him and, in turn, his arm folds around her and he holds her just a little closer.

Finally, they arrive at the lodge–and just as Robin described, the house is made of stone. It's hard to see it well in the dark of night, but she can definitely make out large stones kept together with a sort of mud and thick wooden shutters that cover most of the windows. And it makes her smile.

There's a light coming from one of the windows, then a moment later the front doors fly open and light pours down onto the gravel drive. The staff of the house–a butler, a cook, and a housekeep come out to greet them, accompanied by John and Belle–and then, after a whirlwind of greetings, they're inside the house's small foyer. John carries the boys upstairs to their room and Belle takes one of Regina's bags while the butler manages the rest.

The cook offers them a nightcap–something to drink or a small snack, and despite being far too tired to be interested in any more than finding the nearest bedroom and crawling into the bed, neither she nor Robin can say no to her excitement. So, they request some tea and the cook makes it a point to mention there are scones left over from the morning meal, and then she disappears into a darkened hallway, promising to return shortly with their tea and scones and some fresh jam.

"I'm sorry," the housekeeper says. "We're not used to having people around here. It's nice to have something to do. We're a little overly excited."

Regina's eyes narrow a little as she takes in the older woman, deciding she's far too young to be the housekeeper that Robin's grandfather had allegedly carried on an affair with–and then, she decides either way, she doesn't really care. "It's nice to… feel wanted," Regina replies, looking around the foyer before settling her eyes back on the housekeeper. "We're glad to be here, too."

"Yes, we are," Robin agrees. "And, I am so sorry. I didn't think to introduce you."

"You always did get ahead of yourself," the housekeeper tells him, stepping in and smiling warmly. "At least you did when you were a boy… and you've certainly grown into a handsome man."

"I've certainly grown, that's for sure," Robin said as a chuckle rises into his voice and a hint of a blush rises under the stubble on his cheeks. "I don't know about the rest." He takes a breath and then looks to Regina. "Anyway, onto what matters." He clears his throat and smiles as he looks between them. "Mrs. Potter, I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Regina."

"It's lovely to meet you, Regina," the housekeeper says, grabbing onto her hands and giving them a tight squeeze. "We do hope that the two of you will like it here and, hopefully come often."

"I… think that's the idea," Regina admits as she looks from the housekeeper to Robin and back again.

Clearing his throat, Robin peers into the darkened room just beyond them. "And it's safe to assume all of our things arrived?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Mrs. Potter assures them. "Your trunks are unpacked and you have a room made up, just waiting for the two of you."

"A room," Regina repeats slowly as her brow arches and a smirk edges onto her lips. "As in… one room."

"Oh, when Mr. Locksley wrote and said he and his wife would be coming, I just… I just assumed it was…"

"It's completely fine."

"There are plenty of other rooms. We could easily…"

"No, no," Regina cuts in. "I don't want you to–" She stops suddenly and takes a breath, trying to cover. "I wouldn't want you to go out of your way. You've already had to do so much to prepare for us."

Again, Robin clears his throat. "I, um… I was referring to the… um… the other things." Regina's eyes narrow as she looks between them, smiling at Robin's feeble attempt at talking in code. "I sent it last week with special instructions."

"Oh!" Mrs. Potter exclaims. "Yes, yes, of course. And we followed those instructions to the letter!"

Robin's smile brightens as he looks to Regina, then he reaches for one of the candles that sits in a sconce on the wall. He takes Regina by the hand as Mrs. Potter excuses herself and he leads her into a room just adjacent to where they're standing. She can feel his excitement as he tugs her along and she finds herself holding he breath in anticipation. He makes his rounds around the room, lighting candles as he goes, and little by little the room becomes brighter.

He stops at the mantle and looks up at it, as though waiting–and for a moment, that's not where her eyes go, instead taking in the rest of the room and its rustic decor. It's not entirely unfortunate, as Cora and Richard had made it seem, and though everything in it had gone out of fashion long ago, the room is warm and cozy.

And then, her eyes move to Robin at the mantle, smiling widely.

She laughs a little at his goofy expression–and then watches the way he keeps looking to the mantle, and finally when her gaze follows his, she gasps. "Oh… oh my god," she murmurs as her eyes shift back to Robin. "You… you _did_ buy it!"

"I told you I couldn't resist your starry daffodils."

"I know, but…" She sighs and shakes her head as she feels a rush of emotion she can't quite place. "My mother said it sold for more than–" Her voice trails off as she looks back to her needlepoint, framed and mounted on the wall. "I just can't believe that you did this."

Robin steps toward her, his fingers pressing at her hip as he moves behind her and lets his arm fold around her waist. "I'll let you off the hook," he tells her gently. "You don't have to cook me dinner."

"Well, you cheated."

"I did not," he insists as a chuckle rises into his voice. "There were no rules. You can't cheat if there are no rules"

She sighs as a lump rises into her throat and warm tears flood her eyes. "Well, whatever you say," she begins, taking in a breath as she leans back into him. "I _do_ owe you dinner, given what you spent on that hideous monstrosity."

He pulls her a little closer, holding her a bit tighter as he presses a breathy kiss to her jaw. "You didn't seem to keen on having an animal head over the mantle, and I figured it'd be nice to have a place that was… ours."

"Ours…"

"Yes, a place filled with our things and our memories, and those starry daffodils seemed the perfect start because certainly look back on that day with a great deal of fondness–watching you rush to finish the needlepoint, spending time with you and the boys at the bazaar, stealing kisses every now and… " He sighs and presses another fleeting kiss to her skin. "…the way smiled and laughed, and how beautiful you looked in your new dress."

Laughing softly, she nods and reaches up, pushing away the tears that are threatening to fall, unsure of how to respond or whether or not she's able even able to respond–because all she seems to be able to manage to do is stare up at her ridiculous needlepoint and think of how lucky she is to have him–lucky and grateful.


	14. Chapter 14

Regina rolls onto her side and tucks her hands under her cheek–and a smile draws onto her lips as she notices the warm, morning sun pouring in through the thick, beveled glass window panes. The light shines through, creating a smattering of little rainbows that covers the floors and rugs and the patchwork quilt on their bed–and, as she notices with a soft giggle, Robin's cheeks. **  
**

In the three days they'd been at the hunting lodge, they'd barely seen the sun. Each day they awoke to gray skies and rain, which forced them to stay indoors. Every morning, Robin went to the window and looked up at the sky and sighed dramatically–as if his disappointment alone could change the weather. She'd reminded him again and again that their time wasn't limited, that they had however long they wanted and the little adventures he'd so carefully planned for them and the boys hadn't been wasted.

In those days, they'd quickly fallen into new routines–waking later than they were used to and finishing off a bottle of wine with dinner. Though the staff at the house was small, they learned that the butler also doubled as a groom, tending to the stables–and to the boys' great delight, he'd 'hired' Henry and Roland to be his stable boys. Every morning, despite the rain, they awoke and dressed quickly and followed the elderly man out to the stables where they fed the horses and mucked out the stalls. They brushed them and made sure they had enough water, and they returned to the house to eat whatever breakfast Mrs. Beakley chose to make–and then, after breakfast, Mrs. Potter would take them up to Belle to change. It was usually around that time that Robin and Regina woke up and on the last two mornings, the boys had come bounding into their room and jumped into bed with them, regaling them with stories about the getting to care for the horses and jumping in mud puddles and eating fried potatoes and sausages and hotcakes.

They spent the day before exploring the house–the previous day was spent mostly in the dusty attic, looking at old furniture and through trunks of hidden treasures–and in the evenings they sat around the fire. The first night, Roland had sat on her lap and Henry cuddled into her side as Robin made up stories; then, on the second night he found an old sheet and tied it to either end of the mantle and the boys laughed and laughed as he put on a little shadow puppet show for them, telling a story of two alligators who'd somehow escaped the jungle and were navigating their way through Bombay.

And once they'd tucked in the boys, they found themselves up for hours after, talking and drinking wine and trading the occasional kiss.

Since coming up to the hunting lodge, Robin had given up shaving. His cheeks were coarse and scratchy, and the beginnings of a beard were forming–and though she wasn't generally attracted to men with beards or mustaches, it suited him. And when he kissed her, it tickled and made her giggle.

They'd gotten closer–at least physically–in those three days. It was easier here to be freer with her feelings–and he seemed to feel the same way. There wasn't anyone watching who'd sigh or shake their head, no one clicking their tongue or reminding them of what was and wasn't appropriate. The usual rules seemed not to apply–and they both seemed grateful…

"M'lday," Belle murmurs as she pokes her head into the room. "Are you awake?"

"I am," Regina replies in a soft whisper as her eyes shift to her maid.

"I just wanted to let you know that Winston and the boys are back from the stables." She grins. "We might not have rain today, but we certainly have _a lot_ of mud."

Regina laughs softly. "I'm positive they did their best of avoid it."

"They're changed now and clean," Belle tells her. "They're eating in the kitchen with Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley."

Yawning, Regina nods. "We'll be down soon."

"Shall I have Mrs. Beakley make you and Mr. Locksley a tray?"

Her lip catches between her teeth as her eyes shift to Robin, and she finds herself shaking her head. "No, we'll be down when we're ready," she says, looking back to Belle. "I wouldn't want breakfast to get cold waiting for us."

Belle nods. "I'll let her know."

"Thank you," Regina says, yawning again as she stretches out her legs and sits up a little, propping herself up by her elbows. "By the way, what's on today's menu?"

"Something called breakfast stew," Belle says, her brow furrowing as her lip catches between her teeth. "I didn't try it yet since there were some leftover hotcakes that'd have been fed to the birds by afternoon." She shrugs. "But the boys seem to like it, and if they don't, they're doing a good job of hiding it."

"Ah," Regina murmurs, chuckling softly. "That sounds… curious."

"It smells good…"

"I'm sure it does." A grin pulls onto her lips, and she glances to Robin. "We'll be down soon."

Belle nods and then pulls the door closed again–and Regina rolls onto her side. It occurs to her that she should wake Robin–it is, after all, already much later than their usual wake up time.

A soft grin pulls onto her lips as she watches him sleep–and she can't help but notice how, in that moment, he looks so much like his son. It's not often that their similarities are noticable. While Roland has Robin's demeanor and the same dimples that sink into his cheeks whenever he smiles his mischievous little smile, from what she's been told, Roland is the spitting image of his mother. But in that moment, as Robin sleeps, she can't help but see his son–the way they both lay on their backs as they sleep with their head turned to the side on the pillow, the way their lips part and their eyelids flutter as they dream, and of course, the same peaceful–and of course, dimpled–smile.

Taking a breath, she props up her head, chewing at her bottom lip as she considers getting up on her own and allowing him to sleep through breakfast–after all, he'd been constantly _on_ since they'd arrived. He hadn't a moment to spare, always coming up with new ways to entertain them, always trying to ensure that they were having a fun time.

And wasn't just while the boys were with them.

Long after they'd tucked in Henry and Roland, she and Robin would retire to the sitting room. Mrs. Beakley would leave out the leftover desserts–and had quickly learned to also leave a bottle of wine–and then they'd retire to their room. Robin would build a fire and light the candles so they could see and they'd finish off glass after glass of wine until the bottle was empty. He taught her card games that his grandfather taught him and by the time they climbed into bed it was early in the morning, and they'd talk until the sky was turning light–and then, each goodnight kiss seemed to last longer than the last, leaving her flushed and wanting more.

She found herself anticipating each part of the day, and enjoying the balance of time with the boys and time together–and she couldn't wait to see what new adventure was in store for them today.

Slowly, she moved away from him, edging back to her side of the bed and away from the center–and just as she was about to swing her legs over the side, she felt him reach for her.

"No, not yet," he told her in a groggy voice. "Stay."

"The boys are having breakfast and–"

"That's wonderful," he cut in. "And since our children are not starving in our absence, I see no need to get up."

"It's sunny outside."

"Also wonderful," Robin says, his eyes finally fluttering open as a grin edges into his lips. "But the sun will be out all day."

"Robin…"

"Come on, get back into bed." He shrugs his eyebrows and she laughs. "I just want to lay with you for a little bit."

"You know," she murmurs, picking her legs back up and pushing her feet back underneath the covers. "Some might mistake your meaning with that."

"Some might…"

Laying back, she rolls onto her side and once more props her head up with her hand. "We're missing out on something called breakfast stew."

Robin's face scrunches. "That has been a staple here for… well… as long as I can remember."

"A family tradition."

"Some traditions are meant to die."

Regina's eyes widen as she laughs out–and her heart flutters as Robin's smile brightens. "Is it really that bad? Belle said is smelled good and the boys were enjoying it."

"Need I remind you that your son is too polite _not_ to eat it, and mine attempted to eat a flower the last time we took them to the pond at Sherwood."

Her lip catches between her teeth. "That's… a fair point."

"And smells can be deceiving. It's how Mrs. Beakley lures us in."

"Is it now?"

"Mmhmm…"

"Interesting."

"More like clever."

Regina's eyes roll. "Is there a difference?"

"Sure there is," he says in a confident tone. "For example _interesting_ might be something you'd say as response to one of the boys' drawings–is it a cow or a dog or perhaps a dying flower? Who knows! But it's _interesting_." A grin twists onto his lips. "And _clever_ is… well… what you thought you were being just a few minutes ago."

Her brow furrows. "I'm sorry?"

"When you were watching me sleep."

"I… don't know what you mean," she says dismissively, swallowing hard in a failed effort to seem indifferent. "I was… just laying here, trying not to wake you."

"Ah, I see…" he murmurs.

"It's true."

"I've seen the way you look at me when you don't think I can see you," he says plainly–and she feels her cheeks flush. "You were watching me sleep, looking at me… the way that you do." He grins as her eyes widen. "And you thought you were being _clever_."

"I… don't look at you in any particular way." She takes a breath. "I was simply debating whether or not I should get up and leave you here, or wake you up."

"Ah, of course…"

"I was!"

He laughs. "You are awfully defensive about this."

"I'm not…"

"Mm…"

"I'm not!"

Leaning in, he pushes his hand into her hair and draws her in. His lips brush over hers and she can't help but smile as he leans in the rest of the way and kisses her softly–and she just can't help but kiss him back. When he pulls away, her cheeks are once again flushed and her chest flutters as he offers her a quick wink. "Well, however it is that you look–or don't look–at me, I'm glad you waited for me to wake up."

"Are you?"

"I am," he says with a nod, "And I suppose we should go downstairs for breakfast–after all, it'd be rude to pass up such an _interesting_ stew."

Her lips press together and she tries not to laugh–she shouldn't laugh because it isn't funny, it's not even really a joke–yet for some reason, she just can't help herself.

Robin looks up as Regina comes into the tiny dining room–and his brows immediately arch. She wears a high-waisted gray skirt and a soft pink shirtwaist that flared out just above her hips and midway down her arms. There was a subtle gray ruffle that trimmed the top and around her neck she wore a simple gray pendant on a thin gray ribbon.

"Is that new?" He asks as comes into the room and kisses the top of Henry's head as she slides into the empty chair between them. "I don't think I've seen it before."

"It's not," she says as she drops her napkin into her lap. "You might not believe this but, this skirt is… older than Henry and the shirtwaist I've had for longer than I can remember, but it used to be a dress." She grins. "I arranged for Belle to take sewing lessons from Ruby and–"

"Ah, of course."

A grin pulls onto her lips. "And they've been… updating some of my old things."

"How frugal," he says as he reaches to the center of the table for the teapot. "I'm sure _that_ was your motive."

Regina's eyes roll as he pours tea into her cup. "It's better than commissioning a new one every time I need an excuse to toss the two of them at each other. I'd bankrupt you."

"My father would thank you if he know how… thoughtful you've been about your spending."

"Oh, he'd never bring himself to do that," Regina laughs as she brings the cup to tea to her lips and takes a quick sip, looking at him from over the rim. "He couldn't lower himself."

Robin's lips part as he considers a smart reply–but Henry's voice beats his.

"Can we go outside today since it's not raining?" he asks as he looks to Robin and then to his mother. "It's the first sunny day since we got here. _Please_ can we go?"

He watches as Regina's face softens as she turns to her son, reaching out and wiping a little stew from his chin. "You don't even know what we'd all be doing outside."

"It doesn't matter," Henry says plainly. "We'd be _outside_."

"I do believe that's a fair argument," Robin says, his brow arching as he nods and looks pointedly at Regina and laughing as she looks between them.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm being ganged up on? Why are the two of you making it seem that I'm _opposed_ to going outside today?"

Again, Robin laughs but Henry's expression turns serious. "Because you always say no to fun things."

"Always?"

"Well, when you think something's a bad idea you do."

"And you think that I would think going outside to play would be a bad idea?"

Henry shrugs. "I don't know. I don't usually think my bad ideas are bad ideas until you tell me that they are."

Regina blinks and Robin bites down on his lip to keep himself from laughing. "And what do you think, Roland?" Regina asks, straightening her shoulders as she looks to his son, sitting across from her and stuffing cornbread into his mouth. The boy's eyes widen as he looks at her and it's obvious that he's struggling to chew–and a snicker escapes him as he watches Henry sneak a napkin to Roland underneath the table and Roland, not so discreetly, spits out half of the cornbread and swallows the other half.

"I… think Henry's right," Roland says finally. "We should go outside."

"Well, then it's settled," Regina says. "Even if I did disagree–and I never said that I did–I'm obviously outnumbered."

"Excellent," Robin says, a victorious little grin edging onto his lips as he leans back as he dips his spoon into the stew. "I've got a _whole_ day planned."

"Can we have a picnic?" Henry asks, his eyes widening with excitement as he reaches for more cornbread.

"Can we _not_ have stew?" Roland asks, looking to Robin with less excitement as Henry selects the last piece of cornbread from the basket at the center of the table. "I don't much like it."

"Yet you ate three bowls," Robin laughs and from the corner of his eye, he can see Regina shaking her head. "I'll see what the kitchen can scrounge up," he tells them. "Stew isn't really a _picnic_ food." His eyes slide to Regina and his grin widens. "And you know, if you don't like what's prepared, we'll be heading down to the orchard. You can always stuff yourself full of apples." He leans in. "I've a feeling that's what your mama will be doing anyway."

Regina's eyes roll as she sighs, a little too loudly. "Did we ever find out if the mill was up and running?"

"Winston runs it," Henry says. "But only when the apples are ready to harvest. He makes apple butter and ciders and brings some to the kitchen for cakes and pies and–"

"How do you know this?"

Henry blinks as he looks to Regina. "He told me when we were brushing the horses the other day." Then, Henry's eyes widen a little and a smile stretches across. "Can we take the horses!? Can _I_ ride one?"

"Oh, I don't…"

"Regina," Robin cuts in. "I started riding when I was Henry's age and I'm sure you did, too."

"Yes, in a little corral," Regina says plainly as her eyes narrow. "And my first horse was… a grandmother."

"And I'm sure you and your aged horse _always_ stayed in the corral."

He grins as her jaw tenses. "When I was Henry's age I did."

"Did your horse have gray hair?" Roland asks, oblivious to their banter. "If she was a grandmother, I bet she had gray hair."

Robin laughs and he feels his chest flutter as Regina's grin warms as her attention turns to Roland. "No," she tells him. "She didn't have gray hair and… to be completely honest, being a grandmother didn't mean she was that old."

"But grandmother's _are_ old," Roland says, his brow furrowing as he drags his spoon back and forth threw his stew.

"Horses age differently and my horse was white."

"And not because she was old?"

Regina shakes her head. "No."

"Oh…"

"So, is that a yes to riding the horses?" Henry asks, a nervously bright grin stretching across his lips as he looks between them. "Please?"

Robin laughs and then looks to Regina, doing his best to have his grin match Henry's. And finally, with a roll of her eyes, she concedes. "Fine," she sighs. "But _you_ are going to walk alongside him."

"I wouldn't think of doing anything else."

"Really?" Henry asks, his voice piquing with excitement as he looks to his mother. "I can? Really?"

Regina sighs. "Really, you can."

"I'm going to go change," he announces as he starts to slide from his chair. "If I can be excused?"

"Me too!" Roland echoes. "I need to change, too!"

Regina laughs as Roland hops down from his chair and runs off after Henry. "I promise you," Robin says, his voice suddenly serious. "I won't let him fall."

"I know you won't."

"I'll walk beside him the _whole time_. I won't let go of the reins."

"I know."

"And you'll have Roland sit with you?" Robin pauses. "That won't be awkward in an English saddle?"

Regina's brow creases. "I don't ride side-saddle. It'll be fine."

"Ah, that's right," he says, chuckling softly. "You're a rebel."

"That's one word for it."

Again he laughs and then, his expression turns a bit more serious. "You know, I have incredibly fond memories of those trails that lead out to the orchard and the orchard itself," he tells her. "I know my grandfather was a lot of things, but he was good to me and I've wonderful memories of him." A grin pulls onto his lips. "And I am very glad to get the chance to share that with the boys and make new memories with them… and… I'm also glad to get to share both of those things with _you_."

"I am, too." Her lip catches between her lip and she leans back in her chair. "What was your grandfather like?"

"He was a playboy," Robin says, chuckling softly as he shakes his head. "And an opportunist."

"So I've heard…"

"I'm sure… and I'm sure you've heard he had a torrid love affair with the housekeeper up here."

"My mother told me," she nods. "I assume that housekeeper wasn't Mrs. Potter?"

"No–her sister."

"I… somehow wasn't expecting that."

"Her name was Josephine, but everyone called her Fifi–or that did when she was little." He sighs. "She could never win with my father, but I liked her. She always had candy and when I'd visit, she'd leave some on my pillow whenever she'd clean up my room."

"Can anyone win with your father?"

"My mother could, or so I'm told." He smiles a bit wistfully as his eyes fall away from hers. "But that's another story, for another time."

"I… I think I'd like to hear it."

Robin shrugs, "I don't know much about my mother, actually. She died when I was little."

"I'm sorry…"

"I am, too," he says. "But, alas, there's not much to be done about it now." He grins. "Fifi always told the best stories about my mother, though, and for a long time she single-handedly kept her memory alive for me."

"Then what happened?"

"We stopped coming here."

"Oh…"

"Honestly, I was surprised my father didn't sell it off or even rent it out to a tenant, but…" His voice trails off as he considers that–considering it for the first time in his life. "My mother, according to Fifi, was the reason the orchard exists on the property." He grins. "There used to be a little bench that the trees circled around, she used to take me there and read to me."

"That's sweet."

He nods. "I wonder if that bench is still there…"

"There's only one way to find out," Regina replies, grinning as she looks at him.

"I'm glad we're here," he says, almost abruptly, feeling an odd rush of emotion as he remembers things he hasn't thought about since he was a boy. "I'd… forgotten so much of what makes this place special to me."

"I'm glad I'm here, too," she admits softly. "And… I'm glad you're willing to share it."

"There's no one else I'd share it with," he tells her, reaching out and placing his hand over hers.

Her cheeks flush and she looks away, and he can't help but smile. He means it, too–he's never let anyone in the way he lets her in, and he does it so effortlessly. Right from the start it was so easy to be in her company and though she initially struggled with trusting him, he's always felt so secure in her company. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about her that made he feel that way, but it'd been instant and deepened with everyday that passed. At first, he thought it was mutual heartbreak that made it so easy to confide in her and that formed a sort of connection between them. But it wasn't long before he realized that it was more than that–so much more. He hadn't always been the man he was when he was with her–the man she believed he was, then man she made him into–but he liked who he was when he was with her, and he loved that she gave him reason to hope for the future without sacrificing the past.

Regina rounds the corner and finds herself standing at the threshold of a stone walled kitchen. A smile draws onto her lips as she takes it in, reminded of the kitchen at the inn where she and Daniel lived. There's a large open hearth and a few pots hanging on hooks over the flame and rows of wooden tables caked in flour. Jars and crates line the surfaces and she can hear Mrs. Beakley humming as she unpacks what appears to be a shipment of groceries–and for a moment, she hesitates, not wanting to interrupt.

But as she shifts herself, the floorboard beneath her shoe creaks and Mrs. Beakley looks up suddenly with wide, startled eyes.

"I'm sor–"

"Oh, no, M'lady," the cook cuts in. "You shouldn't apologize. I'm just not used to having, well… people around." She shrugs. "You've every right to come down to the kitchen, I'm just not used to it."

"I wouldn't imagine so," Regina murmurs, a bit awkwardly as she shifts on her feet and the cook wipes her hands on her apron. "We've completely interrupted the usual flow of things."

"That's true," Mrs. Beakley says. "But it's not a bad thing. We're glad for something to do." She shakes her head and grins. "I apologize for the stew. That's not the sort of thing I like to serve, but I think the grocer missed my note to adjust my usual order."

"Robin said it was a family tradition."

Mrs. Beakley nods. "I suppose it is, but…" She sighs. "That doesn't mean it should keep going on."

"Robin said something similar this morning," Regina says, a chuckle rising into her voice as she remembers the way his nose had scrunched as he explained the stew. "The boys seem to enjoy it."

"But little boys will eat almost anything." Then, a knowing grin edges onto her lips. " _Almost_."

Again, Regina laughs and nods. "That's true, I suppose." For a moment, silence falls between them and again, Regina shifts awkwardly. "Um, Robin and I were planning on taking the boys riding today."

"It's a good day for it," Mrs. Beakley says warmly as she leans against one of the wooden counters. "Finally."

"He said something about taking them to a nearby pond and the orchard."

"I'll let Winston know. He'll want to be at the mill, so he can show it off properly." Regina's brow arches and Mrs. Beakley grins. "Like I said, not much goes on around here and he's taken an interest in it. Being a butler in a house that never has anyone in it has to be dull." She shrugs. "At least, for me, the staff that's here has to eat."

"So, Winston works at the mill? So, it's functional?"

Mrs. Beakley nods. "It's a hobby of his."

"I'm glad to hear it," Regina admits. "The way Robin's talked of the apples, I was hoping to get a cup of cider."

"Well, you could have that here. We've got bottles and bottles of it." She shakes her head. "He likes to sell it at the market on Saturdays, but don't tell him I told you that." She laughs softly. "He'll want to make it fresh for you and Mr. Locksley, I'm sure."

"Well, I won't complain about that. I love apple cider… I love anything, really." Regina takes a breath. "That's… actually why I'm here."

"I assume you'd like to take a picnic with you. I could pack some in a crock for–"

"That's actually not what I was going to ask, but now that you mention it…" She takes a breath. "I was actually hoping for a favor."

"Of course, M'lady…"

"You see, just before Robin and I came up here, I… I lost a bet." She grins and shakes her head. "It's kind of a long story, but I owe him dinner, and I have to make it." Her grin tightens and she bats her eyes expectantly. "I was hoping you might be able to help me make some sort of… apple pudding or something."

"Dessert for dinner, my my…"

"Oh, it's…"

"Of course I'll help," Mrs. Beakley cuts in as a warm smile spreads across her lips. "And I've got _just_ the drink to go with it. You get the apples at the orchard and I'll find a recipe." Regina laughs as the cook rubs her hands together. "This is going to be such fun."

Laughing, Regina shakes her head. "You might want to reserve judgement until after you've seen my culinary abilities. I leave a lot to be desired."

"I'll choose something simple," Mrs. Beakley says, dismissing Regina's attempt at self-deprecation. "Simple but impressive. It'll be a challenge."

"As long as you're sure…"

"I am," Mrs. Beakley nods. "Winston has his mill, but I've spent most of my time here making stews that last for _days_ on end. _This_ will be something different, something enjoyable."

"You say that now…"

"And I'll say it later on," Mrs. Beakley says in a confident voice. "And I think it's sweet, what you're doing for Mr. Locksley. And I'm _sure_ he will, too."

She feels her cheeks flush and she shrugs. "A bet is a bet."

"I think it's more than that."

"Oh, I don't kn–"

"I think you do," the cook returns as a grin stretches across her lips. "And I think I know just the recipe."

"Do you?"

Again, the cook nods. "I'll see if we've got the ingredients and if not, I'll walk to the village and get them."

"I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble just for a silly bet."

"Never you mind," Mrs. Beakley assures her as her grin turns coy. "I do wonder… was that adorable little needlepoint a part of this bet?"

"It was," Regina murmurs, feeling a little embarrassed as her eyes fall from the cook's. "Sadly."

"There's nothing sad about it."

"No? It looks like a _child_ made it."

Mrs. Beakley shrugs and again flashes her that coy little grin. "Well, regardless, it never ceases to make Mr. Locksley smile, and there's nothing sad about that, M'lady."

She's not sure how to reply, but she can feel her cheeks flushing with warmth. She's noticed it, too–the way Robin smiles whenever he looks up at the needlepoint. She wonders what part of it he remembers–her irritation as she stitched, the banter between them as they debated if it would actually sell and the bet that'd spurred from the argument, or when he slipped unnoticed into the booth and "stolen" it and deposited a sizable donation into the cash box to more than cover his theft.

"Well, I should go back up," Regina says, shifting a bit awkwardly as she steps back. "Thank you and–"

"Oh, don't mention it, M'lady. It'll be my pleasure."

—–

To anyone who didn't know better, it appeared the four of them were going on an excursion that would last for days rather than a mere afternoon–and Regina had pointed out as much when she joined Robin and the boys in the stables. She'd laughed as Robin packed up a little wagon and hitched it to one of the horses and her eyebrow had jutted up when he'd asked if she could manage to pull the wagon. He'd been glad for his stubbly beard when his cheeks flushed after she'd reminded him that her horse would be doing the labor, so perhaps he'd better check with him. Henry had giggled and Robin recovered quickly, rolling his eyes before lifting Henry onto the smaller of the horses. He could see Regina tense as she mounted her own horse and as he'd lifted Roland up to ride with her, she'd leaned in and reminded him to go slowly–and he'd grinned and nodded and agreed he would, and then, leaning onto the tips of his toes, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and offered her a quick wink before turning back to Henry and handing him the reins.

They'd gone a few miles away from the hunting lodge and by the time they settled, all they could see around them was rolling green hills and valleys. The sky was a bright blue and there were white puffy clouds in the sky–and it was just warm enough to not be uncomfortable. And as he and Regina fanned a large blanket down onto the grass, a wave of nostalgia hit him.

He could easily remember being about Henry's age and stretching out on the blanket at his grandfather's side. His grandfather told him all sort of tall tales about the forest that loomed just out of sight as he munched on biscuits and apple preserves. Most of the time, it was just the two of them, but occasionally, Fifi would join them and he'd giggle as she swatted the back of her hand against this grandfather's arm, warning him not to tell too many stories, worrying that he might not be able to sleep that night in fear that ghouls and goblins or dark fairies with sinister plans for him would sneak out of the woods and into his bedroom. Though he'd insist he wasn't scared, he was always grateful for her warnings–though that was never something that he'd admit.

Regina spread out a thick blanket on a patch of grass and the boys stretched out as he pulled the picnic basket out from the wagon. Mrs. Beakley had packed them all fried egg and tomato sandwiches–and he couldn't help but laugh when, between every bite she took, Regina reminded the boys to _slow down_ and to _chew carefully_. Of course, it'd been in vain and they'd inhaled their sandwiches before reaching for the bowls of berries that had been packed for them. Finally, when they'd eaten all there was, they bounded off of the blanket for a game of cat and mouse–running and screaming and chasing each other through the tall, grassy meadow.

"I wish I still had their energy," Robin mused as he reached for a bowl of strawberries and cheese that Mrs. Beakley had packed for them. "They never stop."

"No," Regina laughed, shaking her head as she plucked the first strawberry from the bowl. "Sometimes I'm exhausted just watching them."

"Though, I must say, it's easier with two."

"You think so?"

Robin nods, grinning as Regina absently licks some of the strawberry juice from her lip. "Only because Roland has a playmate in Henry and doesn't expect _me_ to take on that role."

"But one goes one way the other goes the other, and… my eyes ache trying to keep tabs on them."

"Perhaps my father's right and we're crazy for not utilizing Celeste more often."

"You father is never right," Regina replies indignantly. "At least not about Celeste."

"Fair point…" Robin murmurs as he tosses a cube of cheese into his mouth and looks over at her. "You'd think she'd get bored and quit."

"That will never happen," Regina scoffs. "She gets paid to do… well… nothing all day. There's not a better or easier job than that."

"Perhaps when we get back to Sherwood we should address that matter."

"No," Regina murmurs, shaking her head as she chooses another strawberry. "I don't want to talk about anything to do with returning to Sherwood. Not yet, anyway."

A smile draws onto his lips and he leans back on his elbows. "So, you're enjoying it here?"

"I am." she tells him, nodding sincerely as her eyes meet his. "Very much so."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too. It's been… so nice to just… get away for awhile."

"I agree," he says easily, "And I'm glad that I'm able to share it with you. This place has… so much meaning for me."

Regina nods and her lips part, and for a moment, she hesitates. "So, the last time you were here, though, you were… a child?"

"A teenager, but… yes."

"Given how much it means to you and how much you enjoy being here… and that there's a small staff, that surprises me." She grimaces and shakes her head and he finds himself thinking of all the times he wanted to just turn his back on everything and retreat up to the lodge and start anew. "I'm sorry, that sounded rude and I didn't–"

"I didn't take it that way," he interjects, smiling as he he reaches for a strawberry. "The truth is, after my grandfather died, I didn't have much of an opportunity. My father was hardly going to allow me to travel here alone and he certainly wasn't interested in coming."

Again, she hesitates–and then, drawing in a breath, she looks to him. "That's what I don't understand. Why keep a staff if he dislikes it so much and never intended to come up here. It seems like a waste and… that doesn't seem his style."

"You're right. It's not, and I've never quite understood it myself. I just… never questioned it because I was afraid he'd sell it off."

"I'm glad he didn't."

"Me too."

"And you… never wanted to bring Marian up here?"

It was quite the opposite–he _had_ wanted to bring Marian. But theirs was a whirlwind love affair, followed by wedding plans and a honeymoon abroad, and by the time they'd settled into their life at Sherwood, she was pregnant and sick and then… "There just wasn't the time."

"I'm sorry."

"It was one of those things I always thought would happen _someday_."

"But then someday never came."

"Exactly."

"I shouldn't have brought it up"

"It's fine," he tells her. "I don't mind talking about her–not with you." He smiles sadly as he draws in a breath, slowly exhaling as he looks back to her. "As odd as it may seem to talk to my second wife about my first, you're one of the few people who seem to really understand."

A soft smile edges onto her lips. "I think she would have liked the house."

"Do you?"

Regina nods. "Obviously, I didn't know her personally, but from the stories you've told me she liked things to be simple, uncomplicated. She wasn't interested in the trappings of society or the frills of life on a grand estate, and I imagine she'd have liked the quiet."

"I think you're right."

Taking a breath, Regina shifts herself forward, then stretches out at his side. She grins as she looks over at him and plucks another strawberry from the bowl, and taking a long and deep breath, she rests her head on his shoulder. His chest flutters and his head dips forward to press a fleeting kiss to her hair–and then, he wraps his arm around her back, holding her as they watch the boys run and play.

It's nice to be with her this way–sweet yet intimate–and he can't help but think he could easily spend the rest of the afternoon this way.

Eventually Henry tires of chasing Roland and turns his attention to a patch of wildflowers– and Roland quickly finds a butterfly to chase. He smiles as Regina laughs as they watch Roland skipping through the tall grass, his eyes widen with something that looks like a mix of amazement and panic when the butterfly lands on his finger for a fleeting moment.

"Mama," Henry calls as he runs toward them, smiling as he holds out a small bouquet of flowers tied together with a thick blade of grass "Mama, I picked these for you!"

Regina pulls herself up and off of him, and he finds himself himself sighing a bit wistfully at the loss of contact–and then a smile quickly draws onto his lips as Henry crashes into her and her arms wrap around him. Regina laughs as she shift Henry down onto her lap, leaning forward and peppering his face with kisses. He laughs, too, and wriggles–and then, she lets him go,

"They're _beautiful_ , Henry," she says sincerely as she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Henry beams at the compliment and his eyes cast down to the flowers. "I'm glad you like them."

"When get get home, I'm going to put them on a vase on my dressing table, so I can look at them before I go to sleep and see them first thing when I wake up."

Again Henry beams.

"The room could certainly use some brightening up" Robin adds, sitting up as his hand slides over Regina's hip and he offers Henry a wink. "And these will most certainly do the trick!"

Regina turns and grins gently at Robin–offering a silent _thank you_ that doesn't need to be offered as she leans back into him and turns her attention back to her son. "Are you enjoying the picnic."

Henry nods. "It's nice to be outdoors."

"I agree," Robin says. " _Finally_ some nice weather."

"But the rain made it smell good out here."

"That's true, and that _is_ the upside of rain."

"Well, aren't you two a pair with this riveting conversation about the weather," Regina laughs as she looks between them. "Perhaps that's a signal we should move on to the orchard."

"You've waited very patiently," Robin teases. "I know you've been itching to go since we got here." Regina's lips part, ready to protest, but Robin leans in and pecks her lips–and Henry giggles quietly. "I certainly hope it's not a let down."

"I doubt it will be. Mrs. Beakley said that Winston's been keeping it running to keep himself occupied. He sells ciders and things at a market." A grin twists on her lips. "I think he left shortly after breakfast so that there'd be fresh cider when we arrived."

"Ah…"

"I hope there is."

"Me, too," Henry chimes in. "I hope he has doughnuts."

"Doughnuts?" Robin asks, looking from Henry to Regina for help deciphering.

"Oil cakes," she supplies. "My father was abroad for a bit while we were staying with with my parents and when he returned their cook spent _ages_ trying to recreate them."

"Did she ever get the recipe right?"

"No, I don't think so," Regina says as a soft laugh rises into her voice. "But Henry certainly enjoyed her many attempts and experiments."

"All the doughnuts were tasty."

"I bet they were," Robin says, turning back to the boy. "Perhaps if Winston doesn't have some you can convince Mrs. Beakley to try to make them."

Regina nods at the idea. "She does love a challenge." Robin's brow furrows, but she looks away from him. "Henry, why don't you go get Roland–and perhaps his butterfly friend–and let him know we're going to head over to the orchard while we clean up from our picnic." 

"Can we do this again?"

"I don't see why not…"

"It was fun having luncheon outside." He grins. "And my sandwich was yummy."

"So was mine," Robin tells him as he gets to his feet and runs off the field where Roland is chasing another butterfly, this time with his index finger extended as if to invite it to perch. "I've said it before and I'll say it again," he murmurs quietly as he rest his chin on her shoulder. "But you're raising such a sweet boy."

"We are," she replied, turning and pecking his lips. "He's happier now."

"At the lodge?"

Regina shakes her head. "Just in general… since you've come into our lives," she tells him in a soft but earnest voice as she once more pecks his lips, but this time her lips feels softer and her breath warmer as she pulls away, drawing in a deep breath as her forehead rests on his–and then, a moment later both boys come bounding toward them and the little moment between them is gone.

She'd reached for his hand as they walked toward the mill–the boys running a few yards ahead of them as Winston greeted them warmly at the entrance. He'd presented them with two mugs of cider and apple slices for the boys–and Henry did his best at concealing his disappointment when it became clear that there were no doughnuts.

Winston made up for it by giving each of the boys a cup of applesauce, sprinkled with nutmeg and presented mugs of fresh cider to Robin and Regina. By the time she'd finished, she was dizzy–and she'd laughed when the butler confessed she'd likely figured out his secret ingredient. Robin steadied her as they walked to the back of the mill–and the scent of fresh apples was nearly overwhelming. He gave the boys each a burlap sack and they ran ahead of their parents, picking the lowest hanging fruit.

Robin laughed as Roland's eyes widened at the sight of a worm in one of the apples–and she couldn't help but smile was Henry explained to Roland how to choose apples without worms. Her heart warmed and Roland listened, nodding and watching as Henry pointed to the darker, softer spots on an apple and then showed him bright red, firm one. Since moving to Sherwood, Henry's confidence had grown leaps and bounds–he's always been so shy and quiet, often hiding behind her skirts in the presence of company. He never asked questions and rarely made eye contact, and he always waited to speak. Of course, it wasn't like that when it was just the two of them or when he was alone with his grandfather, but as soon as another person was around, he clammed up and became timid. But having a younger sibling had helped–there were things he just _knew_ that Roland didn't and Roland looked up to him, often waiting to see what Henry did or said before acting on his own, and wherever Henry went, Roland was quick to follow. The boys got on well and it hadn't taken long for Henry to grow into the role of an older brother–and as he did, his confidence had surged.

"Roland's lucky," Robin murmurs softly, bringing her out of her hazy thoughts. "I didn't have brothers, but I had cousins–all of them older–and they'd have had me eat the worm in my apple instead of explaining how to pick healthier fruit."

"I'm not sure that would even occur to Henry."

"Which is why Roland's lucky."

"He adores him, you know," she says, turning her eyes up to meet Robin's. "He loves being an older brother."

"He's good at it." She grins and nods, watching as Roland points up to an apple just out of his reach and Henry steps up into the tree and offers Roland his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmm?"

He chuckles softly as she blinks. "Between what Mrs. Beakley packed for us and the overflowing mug of cider you just had, you're… more than a bit tipsy."

"I'm fine."

"I didn't say that you weren't," he tells her in a soft and easy tone. "I am saying you're a bit drunk."

"I'm not…"

"Then you have terrible balance," Robin teases as his fingers press to her hip and her heart skips a beat as Henry jumps down from the branch just a few feet from the ground, and Roland follows. "Judging at how wobbly you were when we left the mill, I'm afraid you'd topple over if I let go of you."

"I wouldn't."

"Should I try."

Her eyes roll and her cheeks flush as she a grin twists on to her lips. "No."

Laughing, he pulls her a bit closer and presses a kiss to her hair–and she feels herself stumble a little as they follow behind the boys as they run to a tree with a few branches low and sturdy enough for them to climb. Robin reaches for a apple and plucks it from the tree, carefully shining it against the leg of his pant before reaching into the pouch at his side and pulling out a knife.

"You just… carry that with you?"

"For today," he says easily as he uses his thumb to steady the knife against the apple. "And since I knew we were coming here."

She giggles–then cringes at how loud it is–as Robin cuts into the fruit. "So, we packed a whole wagon for a picnic basket, a blanket and knife."

He grins and offers her a slice of the apple. "Well, it's a lot to carry."

"I could have managed."

"You had to hold Roland on your saddle. There wasn't much room for more." Her brow furrows skeptically. "And I imagine we'll be coming back with a couple of sacks of apples, a few crocks of cider, and two very tired little boys." He laughs softly as he cuts another slice of apple and tosses it into his mouth. "And you, if you have any more to drink."

"I'm _not_ drunk."

"You keep saying that."

"I'll be fine to ride home."

"You can't walk alone," he tells her plainly.

Regina blinks a few times and watches as he drags the knife down the slice of apple, then offers it to her. "And that's why I'll have a horse to ride. He'll do the walking for me."

He chuckles softly as she bites down into the wedge and then he cuts off the remaining piece from the core and tosses it aside–and once more, she laughs too loudly as a squirrel runs for the core and claims it, then scurries away before any of the other woodland creatures notice his prize.

"Regina, look!" Her eyes widen as Robin stops and they both look up to see Roland and Henry sitting on a thick tree limb above them. "Look how high up we are!"

Regina swallows and her stomach lurches, her eyes widening as she looks up at the boys. "Yes, you're both… so far from the ground." She lets out a whimper as Henry leans back, his knees forming around the branch to keep him in place as he reaches for an apple hanging just behind him. He sits up and tosses it to Roland and then leans back again to select another for himself–and her heart jumps into her throat as he practically hangs upside down from, too far from the ground for her comfort. "Please, be careful."

Henry just giggles and Roland bites down into his apple. "Look! No worms!"

"That's a good one," Robin calls, as he tucks his knife back into his pouch and pulls out of of the small bottles of cider that Mrs. Beakley packed in their lunch. She swallows hards as Robin pulls out the cork and takes a quick swig before passing the bottle to her–and as he blinks up at the boys sitting on the branch, she takes a long sip, practically finishing off the cider before passing it back to Robin–all without ever letting her eyes leave the boys. "Not drunk, hm?" Robin murmurs before taking the last sip. "We'll see about that."

Eventually, Roland and Henry jump down from the tree and, eventually, they tire of the orchard. By the time Robin packs up the wagon, both boys are fast asleep. He helps her onto her horse and makes a quip about her wobbly state–and he keeps a watchful eye on her as he mounts his own horse. The horses walk slowly and closely back to the lodge and as they pass a little pond, Henry lifts his head and suggest they stop to swim. Robin laughs and shakes his head, reminding Henry that tomorrow will be another day and they'll have to pace themselves before they run out of fun things to do–and before Robin's even done with the statement, Henry's asleep again.

They lead the horses up to the front of the lodge, and Robin gingerly hops down and then looks to her, arching his brow as he looks from her to the gravel path.

"I'm… still a little drunk," she confesses in defeat and as if she'd done a good job of hiding it. "Can you help me so that I don't make a complete fool of myself?"

Robin nods and jogs around the wagon, offering her his hand. Grasping his fingers firmly she lets him pull her down and nearly as soon as she's off the saddle, her foot misses the stirrup and she falls into his waiting arms.

Her cheeks flush in embarrassment and her arms link around his neck, her hands pressing into his shoulder blades as she tries to secure her footing. She can feel him laughing and when she pulls her head up, he's smiling at her, those blue eyes shining in a way that always makes her a bit weak in the knees–and the only thing more embarrassing than falling drunkenly into his arms would be if she'd fallen because she was lost in his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, not really knowing what to say and not clear-headed enough to make a joke of it. "I really need to… watch where I'm stepping."

"I've got you. You're fine," he says in a near whisper, and instead of letting her go, his hands tighten around her hips.

He draws her in, brushing his lips over her before pulling back just enough to see her smile. He leans in again, this time capturing her lips between his as his tongue skims against her bottom lip.

And then, the front door opens.

"Oh, you're ba–" Mrs. Potter's voice halts as Robin pulls away and Regina's cheeks flush deeper. "And I'm interrupting."

"No, no," Regina says–attempting and failing at sounding convincing. "Mr. Locksley was just… helping me down from my horse."

Mrs. Potter nods. "Like a true gentleman."

"I do my best," Robin says with a nod–and she can't help but note the disappointment in his voice as he steps away from her. "And now that Mrs. Locksley is down from her horse and standing on her own two feet, I'm going to take the boys up and tuck them in for a proper nap." Robin steps back again and this time, releasing his hold on her and lingering for just a moment to ensure that she stays upright. He offers her a quick wink before rounding the wagon and lifting the boys carefully into his arms. "Mrs. Potter, please let Winston know that once I've got these two tucked into their beds, I'll be down to take the horses and wagon back to the stables."

"Oh, you needn't do that. Winston returned to the house about an hour ago. He wouldn't mind."

"And neither do I," Robin says easily as he turns toward the front entrance. "Besides, it'll keep me occupied while my wife and children are napping."

"I don't need to–" Robin's brow arches and he presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "I suppose a short nap might be… refreshing," she murmurs as he pulls away, winking at her before carrying the boys inside and leaving her a bit flustered as Mrs. Potter laughs softly to herself. "I suppose I am a little tired."

Mrs. Potter nods. "When we get inside, I'll call for Belle."

"Oh, you don't need to–"

"I think I do," Mrs. Potter says, offering her her hand. "Let's get you to the sitting room to wait." Regina's cheeks flush again, but Mrs. Potter smiles warmly as she leads the way. "He's a lot like his grandfather, you know."

"Is he?"

Mrs. Potter nods and motions to a chair. "He is–and he's so in love with you. It's sweet."

"He's… not… I mean, not that way…"

Mrs. Potter's brow arches and she shakes her head as Regina sits down and once again, she feels a bit dizzy. "Well, _in_ whatever way that he does, it's sweet to see." She offers a quick wink. "Belle will be down shortly."

"Thank you," she manages to say–and when Mrs. Potter is far enough from sight, she groans and lets her head fall into her hands, momentarily wallowing in her embarrassment. And then, a soft little giggle escapes her and she finds herself hoping that what Mrs. Potter said was true.

Mrs. Beakley grins as she comes into the kitchen a few hours later and she smooths her skirt, a bit nervous to begin.

There were only a handful of recipes she could make well–and she'd impressed Robin once before with one of them. But messing up a meat and potato pie was difficult– _that's_ why she was good at it. And as she looked at the assortment of ingredients lined up on one of the counters, she couldn't help but think that even with careful and expert instructions of Mrs. Beakley, she'd somehow manage to mess this one up.

"I wasn't sure that you'd make it down," Mrs. Beakley says in her usual kind voice. "Mrs. Potter mentioned that you were a bit tuckered out after the picnic and orchard."

She nods. "A bit drunk is more like it," she admits with a grimace. "Does everyone know?"

"Well, it's a small house."

"And everyone in it knows that I was drunk… before noon."

Mrs. Beakley grins. "Winston's cider is known for being strong. That's why he sells so much of it," the cook says, laughing softly as she waves her over. "And there's nothing to be embarrassed about, M'lady."

"Well, it's not very _ladylike_ to get myself drunk." She shrugs her shoulder. "But I suppose I'm not a real lady, so it doesn't matter."

Mrs. Beakley's brow creases. "You're the lady of this house, and you can do as you please." She laughs a little as she bends to retrieve a bowl from beneath the counter. "Besides, there's not much else to do up here, and I'll admit, on more than a rare occasion I find myself sipping on the cooking wine… even when the recipe doesn't call for it."

Regina grins. "My mother wouldn't approve."

"Of me sipping the wine?"

"No, of _me_ getting drunk on cider and making a fool of myself for all the household to see."

Again, Mrs. Beakley's brow creases. "You _hardly_ made a fool of yourself–and your mother always was uptight."

"You… know my mother?"

"Everyone around here knows your mother–or well, the family, at least." She sighs. "I don't mean to speak ill of her…"

"Don't worry about it. There's… not much else to say."

A grin edges onto Mrs. Beakley's lips as Regina leans against the counter, surveying the ingredients–the recipe, whatever it is, looks simple enough. "Well, I am very glad to see that the apple fell _very_ far from that particular tree."

"How do you know her–or, her family?"

"Once upon a time, they had a summer house up here, on the other side of the woods." She grins. "When they had parties, my mother would farm me out to help in the kitchen." She laughs a little and again, chooses another, larger bowl and a pan. "Your mother's coming out party was… really something."

"I'm sure it was," Regina says, sighing softly. "Everything she does is _something_."

"There was a rumor that was to inherit her father's entire fortune."

"Sadly for her, it was just a rumor, and she ended up with my father." Mrs. Beakley's lips part, but she says nothing and Regina suddenly finds herself uncomfortable, but this time, for a completely different reason. "So, tell me, Mrs. Beakley, what are we making today."

"Apple pudding."

"Oh that… is simple," Regina says, feeling a bit relieved. "Or, I hope it is."

Mrs. Beakley nods. "My mother's recipe–and yes, a simple one."

"Should I grab the sack of apples?" Regina asks as she motions to the two sacks in the corner of the kitchen that the boys brought back from the orchard. "How many does the recipe call for?"

"Ten," the cook tells her. "Eight for the pudding and two for the iced cream."

"Iced cream?" Regain asks, her eyes widening as she reaches for one of the sacks. "That… sounds less simple."

"I've already started it," Mrs. Beakley replies, laughing softly as she reaches for an extra apron. "We could serve the pudding on its own, but nothing beats a hot pudding with a scoop of iced cream."

"No… I suppose not," Regina says, taking the apron and tying it around her skirt. "I hope you didn't go to too much trouble for a silly little bet."

"Oh, no, no. It wasn't any trouble at all. We had most of the ingredients here–what we didn't have, I was able to get from the village."

"Is that far?"

"A nice walk on a nice summer day," Mrs Beakley assures her. "I needed some nutmeg–mine keeps disappearing on me–and some extra milk and vanilla."

"I… think I know where your nutmeg keeps running off to."

"It's Winston, isn't it?" Mrs. Beakley asks, rolling her eyes. "He refuses to order his own–says he's got too much else to do–and then ends up stealing mine." Regina laughs. "Working for your brother is _not_ advisable."

"You're the butler's sister?"

"It's a bit of a family affair up here."

"That's… so quaint."

"That's one word for it," Mrs. Beakley laughs.

"You don't share a name though. Usually, cooks don't marry, but take the missus title–or so my mother told me."

"I'm a young widow," Mrs. Beakley explains. "Mr. Locksley's grandfather saw no reason not to hire me."

"That's kind… and, sounds an awful lot like Robin."

Mrs. Beakley nods and hands her a knife. Regina starts to skin the apples, cutting them into slices as Mrs. Beakley instructed. Every now and then, she looks up, watching as the cook churns the iced cream, carefully adding spoonfuls of nutmeg and brown sugar to the mixture. She returns to the counter and instructs Regina through making the batter and powdering the apples–and she cubes and mashes the remaining two apples for the iced cream. She inhales deeply as she pours the batter over the apples and she can't stop a grin from edging onto her lips–already it smells wonderful she can't help the excitement that bubbles up inside of her at the prospect of surprising Robin.

"You should be proud of yourself, M'lady."

"I simply followed your directions–and, we've yet to taste it."

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful."

Regina nods, watching as Mrs. Beakley slides the pan into the oven and then tosses another log onto the fire. She pulls of her apron and watches the cook stokes the flame. "How long will it take?"

"About an hour."

Regina nods and looks around the kitchen. "I suppose I should prepare something for the boys. They really enjoyed the sandwiches you made for them picnic. Are there still eggs? I could make them. I think I can manage that."

"That reminds me," Mrs. Beakley says, straightening herself up and pulling off her apron. "When I was in town, it seemed they were setting up for some sort of fair. There were games set up and a friend of mine told me there'd be live music."

"Oh, how fun. Is it just for the one night?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I thought maybe we could go." She pauses. "We're not used to needing to ask for permission, and I know Mrs. Potter would enjoy the chance to see her son."

A grin pulls onto Regina's lips. "She has a son?"

"Christopher," Mrs. Beakley says with a nod. "He owns the tavern in the village. It's called Chip's–that's what we called him when he was a boy. Maybe you passed it on your way in?"

"It was so dark. I didn't notice."

"And I was thinking, the boys might enjoy something like that."

Regina blinks. "My boys?"

Mrs. Beakley nods. "Perhaps not a dinner at a tavern, but–"

"It wouldn't be their first time eating in a tavern. They rather enjoy it."

"Chip makes an apple cordial that I'm _sure_ they'd enjoy."

"I am sure that you are right," Regina says, taking a breath as her chest flutters with anticipation. "I don't see why you couldn't take them."

"Oh, I'm so glad, M'lady," Mrs. Beakley says, grinning knowingly. "I hope you and Mr. Locksley will enjoy the quiet time. I don't imagine you get very much of that with two small children running about."

"No, we… we don't," Regina murmurs as a grin edges onto her lips and her stomach flutters.

Robin's eyes narrow as he looks around the empty dining room–and he can't help but feel a little confused.

After Regina laid down for a nap, he'd found himself lingering in the nursery and watching as the boys slept. They looked so sweet and innocent–and it was one of the rare moments they weren't moving or making noise. He'd sat down at the foot of Roland's bed and before he knew it, he was nodding off–and when he opened his eyes, the boys were gone and their beds were made. John left him a note, apologizing for leaving him to dress himself for dinner, but assuring him that Regina had approved a staff outing–and not only had she approved it, she insisted that he and Belle go with lodge's staff. They'd taken the boys to some sort of fair and he hoped they'd all be back not long after dinner–and though that was the hope, Robin doubted that it would happen.

Regina brushed past him in the hall, still wearing her gray skirt and pink shirtwaist and as she hurried down the stairs, she told him that he didn't need to change and she'd meet him in the dining room.

He'd proceeded to the dining room and sat down at the unset table–and he waited, and waited.

Finally, he heard footsteps and he looked eagerly to the door, grinning as Regina entered, carrying with her a tray and two silver lidded bowls. Beside it were two soup bowls and some silverware, and in the corner was a familiar brow glass bottle that he knew to be Winston's cider.

"Let me help–"

"No, no, no. I've got it," Regina says as she comes into the dining room, taking careful steps. "All I want you to do is sit back and enjoy."

"Did you cook?"

She shrugs her shoulders and offers him a coy, little grin. "I told you that I would."

"Did you? I don't remember you saying anything about–" And then his voice halts and his eyes widen. "Our bet!"

"Our bet," she confirms with a nod. "You may have bought my needlepoint–"

"Which wasn't cheating."

"That's still debatable," she says, setting the tray down on the table. "But I am a woman of my word. The needlepoint sold, even if it was to you, and so I owe you dinner."

"I suppose you do." Grinning, Regina hands him a bowl and a spoon. "And what do I have the pleasure of being served this evening?"

Catching her lip between her teeth, she lifts the lid from the first bowl. "Apple pudding," she says before reaching for the second lidded bowl. "And vanilla nutmeg iced cream."

"Dessert…"

"For dinner."

He grins. "That's fun."

She laughs and shrugs. "I haven't tried the pudding yet," she tells him as she sets a bowl in front of the chair to his right. "But Mrs. Beakley made the iced cream and I snuck a taste as I was putting it into the bowl, and it's quite good. So, at least there's that."

"I am sure the pudding will be fantastic."

"And if it's not, there are plenty of eggs in the kitchen and… well… I'd like to think I can cook an egg."

Robin grins, unsure of how to tell her that no matter what, there's nothing she could do that would be a disappointment to him–and even if the pudding were terrible, he'd never have the heart to tell her. "I am sure you are more than capable and I am sure your egg-cooking skills will not be needed tonight."

"Let's hope," she says, as she dips a serving spoon into the pudding–and she breathes in the sweet and savory smell of apples and nutmeg. "I will say, it smells incredible. So, at least there's that."

He watches as scoops a second helping into her own bowl and then reaches another spoon for the iced cream. She serves him first and then drops a dollop onto her pudding and takes a breath as she sits down, eagerly waiting for him to take a bite. Dipping his spoon into the pudding he grins up at her, dipping his spoon into the iced cream as he looks up at her and grins–and visibly she holds her breath.

"Well?" she asks, her eyes hopeful and wide. "Should I put on the eggs?"

"Not a chance!" he says, swallowing has he dips his spoon back into the pudding and iced cream. "This is absolutely delicious."

She eyes him skeptically. "You're not just saying that?"

"Try it yourself," he says easily, his mouth full of pudding. "Try it before I steal yours."

He can't help but smile when she laughs before taking a tiny bite of just the pudding–and then, she breathes out in relief, and again, he feels a smile curl onto his lips. "Well, it's good to know I won't be poisoning you."

"Quite the contrary," he says easily, watching as she takes another bite of the pudding. "And I do think I've officially got the better end of the bet."

Her brow arches. "So, you admit it," she says, mocking seriousness as she eyes him. "That needlepoint is ghastly."

"Not at all–but my statement is a testament to your talents."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and he reaches for the bottle of cider on the tray, filling each of the glasses and handing her one. She takes it a bit reluctantly, making a quip about having a love-hate relationship with cider before they slip into an easy conversation about the day–recapping the highlights for one another.

"I have to admit," she says, reaching for a second helping of the pudding. "I'm more than a little embarrassed that Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley saw me so intoxicated."

"It's not like you were acting like a drunken fool," Robin says, grinning as she rolls her eyes. "You were just sort of… wobbly and giggly."

"Still…"

"Did they say something?"

"No, it was the exact opposite, actually." She shrugs. "Still, though."

"You really ought to cut yourself some slack. You're always so hard on yourself."

"It's just my nature," she says as she reaches for the glass of cider, narrowing her eyes at him as he reaches for the bottle, ready to refill it. "Perhaps it's a side effect of growing up with my mother."

"I understand," he nods, lifting the bottle from her glass and refilling his own. "My father's cut from the same cloth."

"And somehow we survived."

"But we're not without our scars."

A grin twists onto her lips as she takes a sip of the cider. "Do you think Roland and Henry will one day have this sort of conversation about us?"

Robin's eyes widen. "Bite your tongue! You and I are _nothing_ like them."

"That's true," she murmurs. "I do worry, though, that one day I'll wake up and find that I've turned into her."

"That can't happen."

"You sound so sure."

"I am," he says confidently as he takes another sip of cider, and then he watches as her eyes fall to her plate. "Is… something the matter?" he asks, suddenly feeling the tone of the evening shift. "You seem… sad, all of the sudden."

She looks up and shrugs. "Mrs. Beakley said something today that… caught me off guard."

"Something that made you think you'd one day turn into your mother?"

"No, nothing like that, really," she says slowly. "Apparently, my mother's family had a place up here–and it reminded me of a comment my mother made about this house."

"My grandfather's hunting lodge?"

"She called it dingy."

"How kind."

She smirks and nods. "She's nothing if not kind." He watches as her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a breath, and still, the conversation feels a bit more serious than it had and he's not sure how he feels about the change. "It just… it made her realize there are parts of her life I know nothing about." She smiles softly as her eyes meet his, and again, she shrugs. "And that got me to thinking that there will be parts of my life that Henry never knows–or at least, parts I hope he'll never know–and that made me wonder."

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair–remembering the conversations he'd overheard between his father and the family lawyer having in closed up room after dinners and remembering how those snippets of a plan had prompted him to ask for her hand in marriage. "Perhaps, I can fill in some of the void. I don't know much, but I think I know a little of it."

"Do you?"

"Maybe…"

A grin twists onto her lips. "You've been holding out on me."

"Everyone has their secrets."

Her smile fades and something he can't quite place registers in her eyes–and then, he blinks and when his eyes reopen, whatever the look was is replaced by curiosity. "Our families have been… enemies for awhile now, and apparently, my grandfather stole your mother's inheritance."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Why don't I know this."

"I'm not sure. I didn't know of it until… recently."

"How recently."

"Around the time I decided to marry you."

Her brow arches. "Was that your way of making things up to my mother?"

"Not exactly," he says with a laugh. "Believe it or not, your mother didn't factor into my decision to ask for your hand."

She laughs softly then feigns seriousness. "So you took the long way around returning what your family stole."

"That's… a bit closer to it."

"How is that different?"

"I'm… not sure," he says, laughing awkwardly as her arms fold over her chest. "But it's not how I like to think of it."

"No?"

"No," he says quickly. "I genuinely thought we'd be a good match. The rest of it was… an excuse."

"I see."

"That's all I really know, though," he admits. "About your mother's family and mine, that is."

"You made it seem so… intriguing."

"You sound disappointed to know that we hail from the modern day Montagues and Capulets." Her brow arches and then she laughs. "I hope that our story ends less tragically."

She nods. "Given that neither of us is an overly dramatic or impulsive teenager, I think we'll be alright."

"Is that how Shakespeare wrote them?"

Regina shrugs. "It's how I read them." And then her eyes narrow as she points. "I'll ask you not to point out the irony of what I just said, thank you."

"I wouldn't think of it."

"Good," she says with a satisfied nod. "This is why we get on so well." Robin feels a laugh bubble up from his chest and her smile brightens–and once again, the light and easy mood of the evening returns. "Mrs. Beakley also told me that you're a lot like your grandfather. She seemed to… think highly of him."

Robin blinks and swallows. "Good heavens, I've gone from Romeo to Claudio in the blink of an eye."

She laughs–and he appreciates that she caught the joke. "Regardless, I'm still Juliet."

"You studied Shakespeare," he says, his voice piquing with surprise as he smiles. "Most girls don't cover much of that in their education."

"I did–and that is true," she tells him. "Since I was an only child, my father insisted I have a more traditional education, the same a son would have had."

"How progressive of him."

"So, there was lots of reading and mathematics and history instead of…"

"Needlepoint."

"Exactly."

Robin laughs. "Why don't I already know this?"

"Like you said, everyone has their secrets. Besides, I sometimes sort of forget that it was an atypical way to raise a daughter." She shrugs. "Though, it's hard to imagine that I could forget. My mother insists that's the root cause of my disgrace."

"Ah yes, the dangers of a literate woman."

"Utter those words to my mother, and you'll win her over."

A chuckle again bubbles up from his chest and he grins over at her. "Speaking of disgrace…"

"Oh, what a lovely transition…"

He shrugs. "It was an opening. I took it." Clearing his throat he scoops up what's left of the apple pudding and takes a quick sip of cider. "My grandfather was a complicated man who seemed to have several personalities. I'm like him in some ways, but unlike him in so many others."

"Mrs. Beakley seemed to be referring to one of the likeable versions."

He nods. "She liked him–most people did."

"Except your father."

Again, Robin nods. "He grew up here, for a time." He pauses momentarily, collecting fuzzy memories. "My father never knew his mother. She and my grandfather had a fling, and when she had the baby, she left him with his father and vanished into thin air." He shakes his head. "So, he cozied up to a lonely old woman without any children and…" He shrugs. "And he fell in love with the housekeeper at her favorite getaway."

Regina grins and nods. "I don't suppose you know why he didn't marry her once the old lady died, do you? I'm curious."

"Are you?"

"I like a juicy story," she says with a laugh. "Especially when it doesn't involve me."

Chuckling softly to himself, he nods. "I don't know much, but I do know that her husband wouldn't have much liked that–her tossing him out and marrying someone else."

"Ah, I see where that could have posed a… problem."

"Just a small one… if you'd asked him."

"Is that why he spent so much time here?"

Robin nods. "It is and Sherwood was never his home. He never felt… connected to it. And I suppose it reminded him of the old woman he'd swindled."

"Perhaps… and perhaps, that's why your father's so attached to Sherwood."

"I'm sure of it. It felt… untainted by his father, even though it was." A grin curls onto his lips. "And I suppose that's what I'm trying to do here, with you."

Her cheeks flush slightly and her bottom lip catches between her teeth as he eyes fall to her plate, and to avoid making a reply, she reaches for her glass of cider and takes a long, slow sip–avoiding him the way that she does whenever the notion of real feelings between the two of them comes up.

"We've… made quite a mess of the table."

"Oh," she breathes out, looking at melted droplets of iced cream and crumbles of apple pudding between them. "We certainly have."

"And we've given the staff the night off, so we're going to have to clean all of this up."

"I don't mind that," she says, standing as he stands–and at the same time, the reach for the cloth beneath the serving bowls. Their fingers touch and they look up at each other, grinning softly. His throat goes dry as he pulls back, letting her take the cloth. His stomach flutters at the sudden and obvious realization that they have an entire evening together, alone without interruption–and he wonders where the night will take them.


	15. Chapter 15

Robin's hand slips to the small of her back and he draws her in closer as her fingers slip back and forth against the back of his neck, rubbing along the hairline. She breathes him in as he pulls back, just enough to catch her bottom lip between his lips, sucking hard as his eyes momentarily flutter open and he grins as her cheeks flush deeper–and then, he pushes back in. His tongue swirls around hers and his hand slides down over the back of her skirt–and she sucks in a breath as his hand rests on the curve of her backside.

She hadn't meant to kiss him–or let him kiss her, if that's how it happened–it simply _happened_.

Dinner was over long ago–but without needing to let Mrs. Potter in to clean up the aftermath, there was no reason to get up and move on the the sitting room. So, they'd stayed and finished off the bottle of cider they'd brought out to drink with their food–and when the cider was gone, they'd stayed. For another hour, they'd sat in the dining room, talking and laughing, barely aware of how late it was getting.

It no longer surprised her how comfortable she felt around him–how easy it is to just be herself in his company. She doesn't worry about if she's saying something that'll be taken the wrong way or whether or not he'll find her jokes funny. He smiles when she laughs–and it's not the sort of smile meant to appease her or a smile drawn up out of obligation to make a moment seem less awkward than it is, but a true and genuine smile. He never tells her that she's too loud or too crass, and long ago, she stopped worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing. She doesn't care when he teases her–it doesn't make her feel insecure and she doesn't find herself wondering if there was some sort of veiled intention behind it–and when she teases him back, she knows it will be taken in stride and won't lead to a fight. He seems to genuinely enjoy her company–and she finds that she genuinely enjoys his.

And though, somewhere in her subconscious, she knows that it's a carefully crafted balance–and more fragile than she cares to admit–they've finally reached a point where of contentment and the fragility is easy to forget.

She'd laughed out as she looked at the mess on the table–and she couldn't remember the last time when she not only had to prepare dinner, but had to clean it up. She made a comment about the pan the pudding had been served in needing a good soak–and as she'd stood and reached for it, so had Robin. Their hands met as they grabbed the same corner–and neither had pulled away. For a moment, they just stood there–looking at their fingers touching the rim of the pan, overlapping with the other's fingers–and then, they'd slowly look to one another. Regina swallowed, ready to make some sort of quip–but nothing came to mind, and apparently, Robin was also at a loss for words.

Robin's hand pulled away from the dish, but as it did, his fingers curled around hers. He'd pulled her hand away from the dish as their eyes met momentarily–and then, she watched as his eyes shifted to her lips. She'd swallowed hard as her heartbeat quickened and she'd smiled a little as she absently licked her lips as he started to lean in–and then it wasn't long before they were kissing.

"We… really should clean up," she murmurs, pulling back and swallowing hard as she tries to catch her breath. "The longer this all sits…"

"I realize this will sound pretentious and entitled," Robin cuts in, a grin tugging up at the corner of his mouth. "But we do have a staff here–albeit, a very small one–whose purpose is to clean up after us."

Her eyes narrow. "That _does_ sound entitled, even if is is true," she tells him. "However, I think you're forgetting that we gave them the night off."

Robin nods and his fingers knead at her hip. "They are supposed to return eventually."

Regina's eyes roll and she takes a step back–laughing a little as his fingers press harder in a failed effort to hold onto her. "Yes, but it'd be rude to leave it. We gave them the night off–a _full_ night off. It's not fair to give them free time to enjoy, the double their work when they return."

"It's not doubling…"

Her brow arches. "Say a man who has clearly never had to scrub a pan."

She laughs as Robin's shoulders square. "Fine. I'll give you that."

"Help me," she says, nodding to their plates. "It'll go quicker, if you do."

Robin nods and reaches for their plates, stacking them on top of each other–and she can't help but giggle as his eyes widen as they clank together. He walks carefully behind her–balancing the glasses on top of the plates, and she can practically see him wincing as they clatter with each careful step he takes.

Finally, they reach the kitchen down stairs–and he breathes out in relief as he sets the plates and glasses down atop the wooden counter.

"Now what?"

"We wash them," she giggles in reply. "You know… soap, water…"

Robin blinks. "Forgive me if this is a stupid question, but… where do we get the water for that?"

"There's a barrel just outside the kitchen door."

"Right," he nods, taking a step toward the door before turning back to her. "And then what?"

Regina's eyes roll and she shakes her head. "Fill the basin," a grin edges onto her lips. "That's the tin tub, if you didn't know."

"I figured that…"

"And then warm it."

"On the fire?" She blinks and nods, and Robin sighs. "Okay. Now, _that_ was stupid question."

Regina shrugs. "Well…"

"How do you know all of this?" Robin asks, moving toward the door and lifting the basin. "I mean…"

She blinks. "How do I know how to wash dishes? I think you're forgetting that I used–"

"No," he cuts in. "How do you know how to wash dishes _here_."

"A kitchen is a kitchen, and… I spent quite a while down here this afternoon. I noticed things."

"Oh… right…"

Laughing, she shakes her head–remembering that she promised Mrs. Beakley that she'd do all the cleaning, and though the cook had been more than a bit reluctant, she'd left the pans and bowls and spoons they'd used to prepare and cook the pudding.

She sighs and starts to separate everything, watching as Robin carefully carries in the water-filled basin. She tells him to hang it on the hang it on the hook over the fire–and she smiles when he tosses on a few extra logs, stoking them and building up the flame.

"I'm not _completely_ useless," he tells her, noticing that she's watching him–or perhaps, supervising him. "I do know how to do a few things myself."

"A few," she murmurs, chuckling softly as she turns reaches for an apron.

"Then what?" He asks, his voice nearer. "Do we just… drop everything in the basin?"

"Not quite," she tells him, her smile deepening as he reaches for the strings of her apron and ties them behind her back. "The process is a bit more detailed than that."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you have to–" Her voice halts as his lips brush against her hair and her breath catches when his warm lips drag over the nape of her neck. "Robin…"

"Mmm?"

"You can't–" She sighs and her head falls to the side, giving him more access–she can't deny how good his lips feel on her skin, sucking gently as they flutter against her. "We can't–"

"Why?"

"Because I promised I'd clean up."

"We cleaned up the dining room…"

"That's not…" She breathes out, sighing again with contentment–and she can feel him smile against her skin, knowing the effect he's having on her. "…what I promised them."

"So?"

"So," she says, swallowing hard as she turns away from him, resisting the urge to laugh when he pouts out his bottom lip. "We promised a night off and I won't go back on my word."

Clearing her throat, she circles around him, pulling a second arpon from the hook where they hang. "It'll go quicker if you help."

"You keep telling me that."

"I've said it twice and it's true."

"And when we finish…"

She shrugs and turns back to the counter–giggling softly before turning back to him with a straight, expressionless face. "We'll see…" Robin's lips part, likely ready to protest, but she nods to the counter, anything that's not cast-iron goes into the basin."

Robin frowns. "Why not?"

"Because you clean it differently."

"Oh…"

A grin twists onto her lips as she reaches for the pile of silverware. "The cast-iron things are the heavy ones."

"I… know that," Robin says, looking around the counter, absently smoothing his hands over the front of the poorly fitted apron he's wearing. "How do we clean them, then?"

"I'll take care of that. You work on the plates, glasses and silverware."

"Oh, alright" he murmurs, reaching for a stack of plates as she reaches for cast-iron baking dish. "Are you sure you can–" He stops when her brow arches. "Never mind. I'm sure you can manage."

"I can," she says, nodding decisively as she lifts the heavy pan. "The soap is on the shelf." Robin sighs, but nods and reaches for the box–and she laughs a little as he slowly sprinkles it into the water. "The cloths are just in that basket by the hearth." He nods and reaches for one, and in that moment, he reminds her of Roland and Henry when she makes them clean up the nursery before letting them go and play outside–something, that for some reason sets Celeste's teeth on edge. "If you don't sulk," she tells him. "There might be a treat in it for you."

At that he perks up and his brow arches. "What kind of treat?"

A grin tugs on to her lips and she shrugs. "We'll see."

She can feel him watching her as she turns away from him and grabs a cloth and some oil–and her chest flutters with anticipation of what'll come later on that evening. Quickly, she finishes one pan and reaches for the other–and she giggles as she watches him, hastily scrubbing away at a plate caked in leftover pudding.

When the dishes are done, she can't help but notice how flustered he is—and a grin pulls onto her lips. She flings a clean cloth at him and tells him that next, they'll need to wipe down all of the dishes and return them to their places in the cabinet, and when that's done, they'll need to wipe down the countertops and take take the clothes to the washroom.

He blinks. "And then…?"

"And then… we'll see."

She rises up onto the tips of her toes and presses a lingering kiss to his stubbly cheek as she passes him, and she hears a frustrated little sigh escape him as she reaches for another cloth and one of the dishes.

After a moment, he joins her–and she struggles against the urge to giggle, more than enjoying the effect this is having on him and fully aware he's counting down the seconds until they can resume what they'd started in the dining room.

And her heart flutters when she realizes that she's going to let him…

Finally, when it's all done and the last of the plates is tucked into the cabinet, she turns to him. "Could you help me untie my apron?" She asks, her tone innocent enough for him not to think much of it. He nods, as he emerges from the washroom and hangs his own apron back on the hook. "Thank you," she murmurs as she feels his hand reach for knot at back. "I always make these too tight…"

"No problem," he murmurs as his fingers work to loosen it–and then, she takes a breath as she leans back into him. She hears him swallow–hard as he lets out a little moan–and he nuzzles her neck as his hands loosen the apron. She pulls it away the apron, but his hands remain–and again, he sucks in a shallow breath, as his hands slide down over the back of her skirt, then slowly wind around to her hips.

She turns, biting down on her bottom lip, drawing in a breath as she pulls away from him, and goes to return her aporn to the hook.

Robin clears his throat–and she can feel his eyes on her. "Should we, um… go through to the sitting room?" He swallows as she faces him. "We could… have some wine and…"

"No," she cuts in, her heart beating wildly. "I don't want to do that."

"Oh. Alright, then we–"

"I just want to go to bed," she cuts in–watching as he takes a breath, his eyes momentarily pressing closed as he nods. A grin twists on to her lips–she knows that he misunderstood her–sometimes, he's too much of a gentleman. "Bring the wine," she tells him, pushing herself forward, and watching as his blue eyes widen when she reaches for two glasses.

He nods, and for a moment, he's rooted in place.

She's not sure if it's the cider she's been drinking sporadically throughout the day or the fact that since they married this is the first time that they've been completely alone or the increasing friendliness and comfort between them–or some mixture of the three–but she's suddenly very set on the direction this evening will take.

A grin pulls onto her lips as she reaches for his hand, and she gives it a soft tug. Leading him up the backstairs, the wind their way up the stairs to the bedrooms on the top floor. The stairway is narrow and he follows close behind her–wordlessly, and she suspects he is as nervous as she.

When they reach their room, she kisses him. Blindly, she sets down the glasses and slides her hands up over his shoulders. He kisses her back–harder than before as he kicks the door shut. His arms fold around her and the bottle of wine clatters as he sets it down on the table beside the glasses–and she wonders if the wine will even be necessary, if either of them will need a jolt of liquid courage.

It's another thing she can't quite explain–why she feels so daring all of the sudden, so comfortable and willing. She likes him–loves him, even–and given the way he looks at her, he feels the same. It's safe and secure–and she's not sure she's ever had _this_ before.

She sucks in breath, breathing him in as she takes a step back and grins.

Robin grins back at her, releasing his hold on her as she pulls away and he watches as she steps further into the room.

"Do you… want some wine?" He asks, his voice huskier than usually as he watches her movements. "I could pour some."

"Only if you're having some," she tells him. "There's no need to open a whole bottle, just for me. I'd hate to waste it."

His eyes narrow and he hesitates–and then, taking a breath, he reaches for the bottle. He produces a corkscrew she never saw him grab. "Something that's _just_ for you, couldn't be a waste," he murmurs, grimacing as he pour the wine, and she feels a giggle bubbling up from her core, realizing he had meant for that to sound much smoother than it did–and she realizes that he's likely as nervous as she is. "Come here," he says, as he nods toward the full glass and pours his own. "Let's sit for a minutes and… collect ourselves."

Even beneath his beard, she can see his cheeks flush–and it makes her smile.

Robin sits down in the arm chair beside the table and when she reaches for the glass of wine he poured for her, he reaches for her. He pulls her down into his lap and instinctively, her free arm draped around his shoulders. He takes a long sip of his wine, then drops a kiss to her shoulder–and her stomach flutters with anticipation.

He holds her for awhile–his hands exploring her over her dress and his lips trailing kisses up her neck and across her jaw. She giggles as she drinks–her breath catching when his lips circle around her earlobe. He plucks away her glass of wine and she turns to face him, grinning as his lips brush over hers–and thought her thoughts are hazy, it doesn't escape her attention how different this moment feels than the last time she was with a man in the way–and relief washes over her as she presses herself closer and lets her tongue slide against his.

But then again, Robin is different and a far better man than _him_ –and she's known it for longer she even realizes.

She pushes away the thoughts threatening to invade the moment, and she breathes him in, smiling into the kiss as she takes in the soft scent of pine and merlot.

Robin's hand rubs over his her back, circling around the tiny buttons that lining down the center of her back–and suddenly, he laughs out, breaking the kiss. Her eyes widen as she pulls back and he laughs again, looking around her to the back of her dress.

"How the bloody hell do you get in and out of these things?"

"It's why we have a maid on salary," she returns, "To help me in and out of these bloody things."

"Well, she's worth every penny," he says, looking back to her. "And…" He sighs. "I feel like I've ruined the moment." A grin pulls onto his lips. "I thought I'd… slowly undress you and…"

"It's easier if we stand."

"Hmm?"

"Undoing the buttons," she tells him. "Regardless of the direction tonight takes, you're going to have to help me out of it. I'm not wearing a corset, but I doubt this would be very comfortable to sleep in."

"Oh…"

She takes a breath, her heart beating even faster as she reaches for her wine, quickly downing it before rising from his lap. She grins as he shifts in the chair–and despite the dimly lit room, she can see how constricted he is in his trousers.

She's trembling as he moves toward her and her breath catches when his hand touches to her waist–and suddenly, she's quite glad to the wine.

He drops a kiss to the back of her neck when he circles around her and his fingers begin to work over the buttons at the back of her dress. Slowly, he undoes them–his lips suckling gently at her neck as he does, eliciting a soft moan from her. Finally, when the top of her dress his undone enough, his hands slip inside, rubbing against the thin muslin that covers her beneath it. Taking a breath, she pulls her arms from the dress, letting it fall around her her hips as she turns to him–and his smile nearly sets her at ease.

"You're sure about this?" he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers–and when she nods, he pushes the skirt down over her hips and they both watch it pool at her feet. "You're absolutely sure?" He asks again, pecking at her lips as her hands slide up over the woolen vest over his shirt.

"I am," she tells him, swallowing hard as she nods and lets her eyes meet his. "I've been sure… for…" Her voice trails off and instead of speaking, she lets her fingers twist around the buttons and she pushes it off his shoulders, then presses her palms against the silky fabric of hs shirt.

He grins and her heart skips a beat as she lets her hands slide down his arms, her fingers folding around his palms. Taking a long breath, steps back and tugs him toward the bed. Her eyes remained fixed on him as she lets go of him, and sits down, edging herself back and propping herself up on her elbows–a grin forming on her lips as he pulls off his shirt. For a moment, her eyes linger–and then, she looks away, her cheeks warming as a giggle escapes her.

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "I'm just nervous and I–"

"It's fine," he tells hers as he sinks down into the bed beside her, stretching out at her side. "If it's any consolation, I am, too."

"It's just–"

"There's no going back."

She nods. "All the pretense and… and the pretending and…"

Robin takes a breath, his eyes following her fingers to his chest. His lips part as though he's about to speak–about to say something–but no words come. Instead, he looks back to her and leans in. His hand cups her cheek and his tongue pushing in between her lips as he kisses her softly. She edges closer as her hand slips down his chest–and taking in a short breath, she twists her fingers around the button at the top of his pants and pushes in her hand, feeling him through the thin muslin fabric that covers him.

He lets out a groan against her mouth, and she grins, feeling encouraged.

Her fingers wrap around his cock, slowly rubbing him–feeling him growing harder with every touch. He lifts his hips and momentarily forces her hand away as he pulls off his pants, and as he kicks them away–muslin and all–he rolls on top of her. His hands tug at her muslin undergarments and as he removes them, he presses soft kisses to her newly bare skin.

Robin sits up as she rolls onto her back–and her eyes trail down him, settling momentarily on his erection, before shifting back up to his eyes. She's wetter than she realized–and she practically aches for him.

She can feel her chest rising and falling as she breathes–hard and shaky, and full of anticipation as he leans back in. Her legs part as he settles over her, and she tips her chin up, seeking out his lips. She smiles as he brushes his over hers, their noses bumping as a softly laugh escapes them both–and then, her breath catches in her chest as he slowly begins to push into her.

Little by little, he works his way inside of her–and slowly but surely, thrusts become longer and go deeper until they've found a rhythm. Her legs form around his hips as she holds onto him–and she lets out a contented sigh as he slips in further, hitting on a spot that makes her squirm and drives the air from her lungs. He slides in and out of her, thrusting harder–and her breath grows more ragged.

He feels so good–he makes _her_ feel so good–and for awhile, she loses herself in it, completely unaware of the mindless babbling that escapes her or the way her moans grow louder and more frequent.

She feels him tightening, his cock jerking inside of her and then, as his movements slow, she's flooded with warmth. Her legs loosen as he thrusts a few more times and she can feel his heart racing and his breath growing shallow just before he swallows hard and rolls off of her.

"That was… nice," she murmurs as her knees fall to the bed and she turns her head on her pillow to face him. "It was–"

"Who says we're done?" He asks, his brow arching as he laughs and leans in, letting his lips settle at a spot on her neck. His hand begins to wander, slipping down her stomach and sliding between her legs.

Her breath catches and she flinches a little as his fingers drag over her clit and two dip inside of her. His fingers continue to pump in and out of her as his thumb circles around her clit, applying just enough pressure as his lips trail from her neck to her breast.

He shifts himself a bit, kneading one breast between his fingers as he sucks at the nipple on her other breast–and still, his fingers pump in and out of her, going faster and deeper as thumb continues to press firmly against her clit until her back his arching up and she's nearly screaming out as her body writhes beneath his touch.

He doesn't stop as she squirms, instead it seems to only encourage him. And as soon as one orgasm subsides another seems to begin and by the end of the second, her limbs are weak and her breath is ragged–and then, finally, when she's not sure she can handle any more, he pulls away and lets her breathe.

She feels her cheeks flush a bit as she comes down from her high–and Robin rolls onto his side, leaning in and pecking her lips. "And that was nicer," he tells her–laughing into a soft and fluttery kiss.

And once again, she finds herself thinking that this is all so different than before…

The morning sun is warm as seeps in through a space in the curtains–and as her eyes flutter open an equally warm smile edges its way onto her lips as she remembers the night before.

And it surprises even her how daring she'd been, how honest she'd been…

The fire's dwindled down and their clothes are scattered all across the floor. The nearly full bottle of wine still sits ignored on the table, and beside her, Robin sleeps.

Rolling onto her side, she smiles–remembering how he'd held her, how he'd kissed her, how he'd touched her–and she finds herself thinking about how lucky she is to have him. It still didn't quite make sense to her, but little by little, she found that it didn't bother her to not understand what he saw in her or why he'd wanted to marry her all those months before. The only thing that mattered as that he had–he'd chosen her and had given her a second chance at a real life, a second chance at love…

For a while, she just lays there watching as he sleeps–and little by little, reality starts to set in.

The boys are likely already awake and usually, it's around this time, Belle comes in to let them know that breakfast is ready–and she'd hate for her to walk in on them as they are. It's not that she's embarrassed or feels like they've done something wrong–but unlike the time they staged a night together for the benefit of rumor, this is something she'd like to keep between the two of them.

Sitting up, she draws in a breath, once more looking back at Robin, sleeping soundly at her side–and just as she's about to get out of bed in search of her robe, she notices a note at her bedside table. A vague memory flickers from the day before, and she remembers Belle coming in as she slept off her drunkenness–apparently, something had come for her in the daily post.

She reaches for it and doesn't bother to look at the inscription on the front. Instead, she breaks the seal and unfolds it, yawning she opens up the neatly folded paper–and then, her stomach sinks at the sight of her mother's handwriting.

Before even reading a word of it, a sense of dread fills her–and immediately, she feels like she's done something wong.

Her mother's words don't disappoint–in just a few short paragraphs, she manages to change absolutely everything–or perhaps, nothing changes at all, but instead wakes her up from the dream she's been living in since they left Sherwood a week ago…

In the letter her mother makes it clear the tone she took with her the day she brought the boys over to say goodbye before their journey north–the day that Cora nearly slapped Roland–was unacceptable, and for taking such a tone, she'd pay.

Once her purpose was stated, her mother reminded her of the leverage she had over her–the secret that would be final nail in her coffin, the secret that would surely lead to her ruin. She reminded her that even good men like Robin Locksley had their limits–and certainly not even he could live with what she'd done, no one could. Guilt stabbed at her core and tears welled in her eyes as she remembered that painful night–how low and desperate she'd sunk and the shame that had filled her. She hadn't been able to make eye contact with her father for weeks after he'd learned what she'd done–and her spirit and independence had slowly drained away.

It'd been a stroke of luck that Robin had asked for her hand. Though there was an uncomfortable history between their two families, she had little choice but to accept his proposal–after all, there would be none after him and it gave her the illusion of control. Everyone else around her knew just how tainted she was–but Robin was man who'd isolated himself after his wife's death and he didn't engage in social circles, and he'd pushed away even his closest of friends. As long as he didn't know, she was safe. And, Cora did not miss the opportunity to remind her daughter just how fragile that safety net was, reminding her that she needed a tie to Robin–or more importantly, Robin's money–that was stronger than marriage, a tie not as easily dissolved.

She needed a child–a child was her only chance of not being cast off, a child would trap him.

And she refused to trap him.

He deserved better than that–he deserved better than her.

Her eyes sink closed as she thinks of the night before–and her stomach twists and a feeling of dread washes over her. Maybe it was the cider and the wine or the notion of freedom she felt here at the hunting lodge, but whatever it was, she'd let her guard down and she couldn't undo what she'd let happen.

She flinches when she hears him stir beside her, and she crumples her mother's letter in her hand as Robin pulls himself up and leans in to press a kiss to her bare shoulder–and she tenses in response.

"Regina?"

"I'm sorry–"

"Don't apologize. Are you… are you alright?"

She nods and turns, putting a smile as she blinks away her tears. "I'm fine."

Robin nods, and hesitates and his hand slips around her waist–and sucking in a breath, she pulls away. "We shouldn't do this."

"This?"

She nods. "Robin, I… I'm sorry."

"Perhaps I'm the one who should be apologizing." She turns, looking at him with wide eyes. "Regina, did I… misunderstand something. Did I–"

"No," she cuts in. "You didn't misunderstand anything." Taking a breath, she reaches for his hand and gives it a little squeeze. "I just… I didn't think things through, that's all." She shrugs her shoulders and again, forces a smile. "I just got caught up in… you and how good it felt to kiss you and flirt with you and let you…" She sighs and her eyes press closed–she hates herself for this, for knowingly hurting him when he doesn't deserve it. "What we did last night, while completely wonderful, could have consequences that… we don't want to deal with."

"Regina, we're married. If there's a _consequence_ , we can–"

"But that's just it, what if… what if one of us doesn't want it."

He blinks, not following her.

"Robin, I… don't want anymore children. What's done is done now, but I don't think we should allow this to happen again." He stares at her for a moment, and she has to look away–she can't stand to watch disappointment register in his eyes and she can't stand to be the reason for his disappointment. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, he's quiet–and she remains as still as possible, still not able to look at him. And then, she feels his breath on her neck and his chin comes to rest on her shoulder. "I haven't said it, but I love you," he tells her. "I love you, and maybe this was all just too much, too soon."

"Maybe," she murmurs as tears well in her eyes. "But, Robin, when you say that you l–"

"I mean it, Regina. I love you and I–"

"Can you do me a favor?" She cuts in, not ready to hear it again.

"Anything."

She swallows hard, and the familiar feeling of self-loathing creeps in as she clutches to her mother's letter. "Can you be a gentleman and close your eyes so I can get my robe? Belle should be in soon, and I…" Her voice cracks and she can't finish, but when Robin pulls away, she has her answer.

As requested, when she looks back at him, his eyes are closed–and then, sucking in a breath, she gets out of bed and pads to the dressing room, tossing the letter into the fire as she passes and she makes no attempt to hide her tears.


	16. Chapter 16

Robin sits down on the edge of the bed and blinks down at the familiar blood red wax seal in his palm. Taking a breath, he flips it over and looks down at the _CM_ engraved at the center in a curly script at its center–and suddenly, everything makes sense sense to him. **  
**

Or, at least it makes more sense than it did before.

For an entire day his head had been spinning as he tried to figure out how everything had changed so quickly. He didn't understand how he could fall asleep one night, feeling on top of the world and how he could wake up the next morning in the depths of hell.

He'd gone through it all, again and again, and he just couldn't make sense of it. He considered that it might have just been too much, too soon–that her decision to go to bed with him was fueled by alcohol, that she hadn't really wanted it to go as far as it did and just hadn't know how to stop it, that she acted out of some sort of feeling of duty or obligation.

But none of that seemed right–it most certainly didn't _feel_ right.

He remembered the way she'd smiled and laughed, the way she'd kissed him and the way she'd encouraged his roaming hands–and when it was done, he saw the way she'd looked at him, her eyes filled with such love and contentment. He couldn't help but smile as a soft and almost shy grin twisted onto her lips as she'd cuddled in, resting her head on his shoulder as her fingers rubbed absently over his chest, getting slower and slower until she'd fallen asleep…

That morning, she'd avoided him as much as she could–and it was more than obvious to everyone, even the boys, that something had changed between them. It wasn't that she was cold–on the contrary, she was quite the opposite. But every time it seemed like they'd have a chance to talk, something inevitably intervened and for the entire day, they shared little more than a couple of passing glances in the other's direction–and each time that happened, she looked like she was on the verge of tears as though her heart was breaking.

And, in turn, he felt like his own heart was breaking.

He hadn't quite known what to do about bedtime–he wasn't sure if she wanted to share a bed with him when she could barely stand to be in the same room with him–but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask Mrs. Potter to turn down one of the beds in one of the other rooms down the hall. And though it seemed unlikely that Regina would have a change of heart and suddenly feel differently, he hoped they could at least find a little bit of time to talk to each other about whatever it was that happened.

But she hadn't come to bed that night.

Instead, he found her in the nursery, cuddled up with Henry and Roland on one of the boys' beds with a book of nursery stories folded in her lap. The boys were both asleep, sprawled over her and her arms were loosely folded around each of them. He'd stood there for awhile just watching the three of them sleep–and after awhile, it occurred to him that he should probably peel the boys off of her, that he should wake her up and help her to bed, that she'd be much more comfortable and get better rest if her neck wasn't twisted so awkwardly and she wasn't sleeping in a bed that was sized for a child. But he was well-aware none of those things mattered to her–she hadn't fallen asleep in the nursery by mistake. It was likely an intentional choice in an effort to avoid him, and though the thought of that practically stole the air from his lungs, the choice was hers and he'd have to respect it.

"Did you find it, sir?" John asks as he emerges from the dressing room. "I've found another pair that would be suitable for everyday-use, but the other set you've brought are quite nice and–"

"That's fine," Robin sighs, looking once more to the wax seal in his hand. "Whichever you packed will do the job." He shrugs as he stands and extends his arms. "Though, if I'm being perfectly honest, I didn't mind just rolling up my sleeves."

John nods. "I'll keep looking once you've gone down to breakfast."

"We'll be returning to Sherwood soon enough, and I've no short supply of cufflinks there. You don't need to waste the time looking. I'm sure you have other things to do."

John laughs softly. "Here? Not exactly…" Robin looks up as John twists one cufflink at his wrist. "It's been quite a nice to have some time away from it all."

"I agree," Robin nods, his thoughts instantly winding back to Regina and their time together–how much freer she's seemed, how much less reserved she's been. "I think it's been good for all of us."

"Perhaps we'll do it again, soon," John suggests as he reaches for Robin's other hand and carefully pinching the second cufflink closed. "Henry and Roland certainly seem to enjoy it here."

"They just like being away from Celeste."

A grin edges onto John's lips. "Well, that's no surprise. She rules that nursery with an iron fist."

"She does," Robin sighs as he looks to his valet. "I'm fairly certain that's why my father chose her. He was hoping that my son wouldn't turn the way that I did."

"Not to speak out of turn, but that seems quite likely. Celeste isn't exactly… the nurturing type." His brow furrows as John's jaw tightens. "And, I'm… not so sure that it's your son you need to worry about with regards to Celeste."

Almost instantly, he feels his cheeks warm and the light grin he'd been wearing fades. "But I should worry about Henry… about my wife's son."

John nods. "I haven't… really seen much, but it's a feeling I get."

"Has Celeste said something?"

"No," John says slowly. "She's not one to fraternize with the downstairs staff. It's more of… a distant observation. There's just something unsettling about it all. I can't really pinpoint it though."

"Is that why you haven't said anything before?" Robin asks, his tone harsher than he intends. "Because…"

John shakes his head, seemingly unbothered by Robin's tone. "I assumed it was just Henry's personality. He's shyer than Roland and he's had to deal with a lot of change this year. So, I didn't think much of it until I saw him here. He's so much more…"

"Outgoing?"

John nods. "And comfortable with the staff."

"Unlike at Sherwood." Again, John nods. "Thank you for sharing your concerns. I…" Robin sighs as he looks to the mirror, looking himself over. "I wish they'd come as a surprise to me. I… sort of thought it was just me being overly protective."

"No. It's not just you."

"When we return to Sherwood," Robin begins, turning back to the valet. "Would you mind… keeping an eye on things?"

"Not in the least."

"Thank you." Robin cleans his throat and takes a few steps forward. "And, honestly. Don't worry about the cufflinks. It seems we've got bigger problems than a missing cufflink."

John nods as Robin exits the room, his head spinning as he thinks about the little things he's noticed when Celeste was in charge of Henry–all of the things that made him uneasy about leaving Regina's boy in her care. As he heads down the long hallway toward the stairs, he finds himself thinking of the evening they'd all been preparing to go to church bazaar and how he'd popped into the nursery to see that the boys were ready. It hadn't been much–just as John said–but Roland was all dressed and ready to go, and Henry was sitting on the edge of a chair as Celeste buckled his shoes. Her hands moved quickly and at the time, it was easy to assume she was just in a rush–but she seemed to be a little rough and Henry looked on the verge of tears. There'd been another time when Henry complained about his oatmeal being too cold and a bit rubbery, and Celeste had snapped at him. Again, at the time, it seemed like he'd simply caught her at a bad time or in the midst of a stressful moment–but Henry was startled and, thinking back, it was obvious he thought the comment was one that only Roland would hear.

He's lost in his thoughts and only vaguely aware of the boys' laughter as Regina calls after them, telling them not to track mud onto the carpet as Mrs. Potter laughs and tells her how thankful she is for her care over such things. He didn't hear Regina's comment as he started down the stairs and he can't help but laugh out as two drenched and shoe-less little boys run past him on the stairs–and then the dull ache that had nestled into his chest the day before returns as he stands rooted in place as he watches Regina and Mrs. Potter talking.

He walks slowly down the stairs, not waiting to startle her or interrupt, and he does his best to ignore how much more at ease she was with Mrs. Potter than she was with him–and the ache in his chest worsens as she turns toward the stairs and offers Mrs. Potter a warm, parting smile.

And then, no sooner than their eyes met, Regina reaches for the rail as a little cry escapes her and she tries keep her balance. Mrs. Potter calls out a sharp _M'lady_! as she rushed toward her and Robin finds himself suddenly standing on the stair just above her, his eyes widening as he looks down to see her foot awkwardly turned onto its side as she grips the rail. She grimaces as she lets out another whimper and a hushed expletive as her grip on the rail tightens.

"Oh, m'lady, it looks as though you've tripped on of the boys' shoes…"

"That's what I get for insisting they take them off."

"Let me help you," Robin says as his hand slips to her back and he offers her his other hand–and he smiles a little as she looks up to him, and then reluctantly places her hand in his. "Come on, the sitting room isn't far. We can get you off of your feet and–"

"Thank you," she mutters as his arm tightens around her waist and Mrs. Potter lets go of her. "I… should have known. Henry is always leaving his shoes on the–" She winces again as he helps her turn, and without thinking, he bends and lifts her, carrying her the short distance to the sitting room.

"I'll see if we have any bandages to wrap it up in," Mrs. Potter says, already halfway down the hall and moving quickly in the opposite direction.

"I'm such a clutz," Regina sighs as he sets her down onto the sofa. "I can't believe–"

"You didn't see it."

Her eyes roll as Robin lifts her skirt away from her ankle. "Mrs. Potter must think I'm–" Her voice halts and she winces again as Robin's fingers press to her foot. "Damn, that hurts."

"It doesn't _feel_ broken," he says, letting his eyes meet hers. "Just sprained."

"Sprained that's…" She sighs. "I don't know what that is."

A grin twists onto his lips as he pulls away and reaches for one of the decorative pillows on an armchair off to the side of the sofa. "As a child I was constantly climbing trees and falling out of them," he tells her as he sits down on the table in front of the sofa and fluffs the pillow. "A sprain will hurt more than a break, but heal much more quickly."

"Oh…"

He tucks the pillow under her foot. "When Mrs. Potter returns, I'll have her tell Winston to go find the doctor."

"I don't think that's–"

"I don't want to take any chances with you," he cuts in. "And I'm sure we'll both feel better once you've seen a doctor who can confirm it's only a sprain."

She nods in concession. "I hope it's not broken. Henry takes everything to heart and–" She grimaces as she tries to move into a more comfortable position. "He'd feel terrible," she sighs, looking back to Robin.

"Well, I'm sure it'll brighten his day knowing that you can't travel, and we'll be staying here a bit longer than we initially planned."

Her eyes close and she takes a breath–and he can't quite tell if she's just in pain of if she's uncomfortable in his presence. "I don't think any of us will be broken apart over that… if that's actually the case."

"No," Robin admits. "I know that I'm certainly not… if that's actually the case."

Regina sighs and her eyes open. "Not sure the staff here will agree."

Robin's brow furrows. "And why's that? They seem to be enjoying–"

"I must be making quite an impression. The other day I was too drunk to go upstairs and now–"

"You tripped, Regina. It was an accident."

"Winston and Mrs. Potter must think I'm so…"

"Charming and delightful," Robin interjects as a small smile edges its way onto his lips. "They think you're charming and delightful, and that I need to… fix whatever I've broken between us."

"Oh…"

"Regina…"

"You didn't break anything between us," she says in a quiet, barely audible voice as she looks away. "I did."

"No, you didn't…"

"I've been acting like such a child."

"You… just seem…" He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "Sad and confused and… a little bit heartbroken. Not childish."

She nods. "I'm pretty good about breaking my own heart."

His chest tightens as he draws in a breath. "What happened, Regina? Did I completely misread what happened between us? Because, if I did–"

"No," she cuts in, looking over at him with wide eyes. "You didn't misread anything. I just… woke up and…" She sighs and looks away. "As usual, I didn't think things through. This was my fault."

He nods and his hand slips into his pocket, and fingers form around the wax seal. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. This is… all on me." She offers him a half-hearted smile. "I do a very good job of torching my own happiness."

A little grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth–it feels like such a little, insignificant victory, but it's a victory, nonetheless. "So, the other night… that… that made you happy?"

"It did. You did," she says, swallowing hard as she nods. "Like I said, I just didn't think it through and–"

"And would that feeling be at all attached to the letter your mother sent?"

He watches as her eyes widen–and she doesn't just seem surprised that he knows about the letter from her mother, more than anything, she seems worried and maybe even scared.

"Y-you know about that?" He nods and he can't help but notice the way her jaw trembles. "How? How could you possibly know about that letter?"

He hesitates for a moment. "I didn't mean to pry…"

"How do you know that my mother sent a letter?"

He takes a breath. "It arrived yesterday when you were napping. Winston brought it to me and I told him to give it to Belle to bring to you. I assumed you'd read it when you woke up, but… you didn't, did you? You read it yesterday morning when you first woke up. You read it after we'd slept together, not before."

"I… I can't believe…"

"It didn't occur to me yesterday," he cuts in. "I didn't even think of that letter until I found this underneath your side of the bed." He opens his palm to reveal the seal and he watches her eyes press closed. "Honestly, I wasn't trying to pry. I was looking for a cufflink and–" He stops and waits for her eyes to open–and still, she looks absolutely terrified. "What did she say, Regina? What did she say to make you change–"

"She didn't make me change my mind."

"Then why do you suddenly seem–"

"She just reminded me of something that… that I allowed myself to forget about for awhile." She shrugs. "I let my guard down and I–"

"That's not a bad thing, Regina. Being comfortable with me isn't something that'll come back to haunt you."

A small grin edges onto her lips and she nods. "And what if it came back to haunt you?"

At that, his brow creases–he doesn't understand. "I highly doubt that I'll ever regret–"

"I didn't say regret."

His eyes narrow. It feels like they're talking in circles and he's doing a poor job of keeping up. "All I know, Regina, is that the other night was the best… _sleep_ , I've had in a _very_ long time, and I was unprepared for what happened the following morning."

She blinks and he sees her struggling against the urge to smile. "T-the best?"

He laughs softly and nods. "And, by _a long time_ I mean… well… ever, really."

"Yeah?"

Taking a breath, he nods and feels his shoulders relaxing. "I meant it when I said that I love you. I didn't say that because you were upset or I thought you were questioning–"

"I wasn't questioning anything. I just…"

His eyes narrow as her voice trails off–and again, he feels so lost. "You just… what?"

"Well, I had to cut new bandages," Mrs. Potter calls out as she comes into the room. "And I've got some ice here. Winston recommended–" Her voice halts as she looks to Robin and Regina. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I didn't–"

"No, no," Robin murmurs as her rises up from the table to accept the stirps of bandge. "You're not interrupting. I'm sure the ice will help." Mrs. Potter nods, and again, she looks between them–then, looks pointedly at Robin. "Could you send Winston–or perhaps, John–to fetch a doctor. I've diagnosed it as a sprain, but I think someone trained in medicine should be the one to make that call." A slight grin pulls onto his lips as he looks from Mrs. Potter to Regina. "I don't want to take any risks with her."

Her lip catches between her teeth–and then the moment is lost as Mrs. Potter leaves them to find Winston and he turns his attention to tending to her ankle.

Regina's protests are only half-hearted, and it's not before long that she gives in and allows him to take her upstairs and settle her in their bedroom.

Belle brings her some willow bark tea, compliments of Mrs. Beakley, and props her feet up with pillows from one of the other rooms–and he can't help but chuckle as her face scrunches as she struggles through the small cup of tea.

"Is it working?" He asks as he wraps a few chunks of ice in a cloth. "According to Mrs. Potter, it should start to relieve some of the pain."

Regina's brow furrows as Belle refills her cup. "Well, I'm certainly not thinking about my ankle."

"My father used to make me chew on willow bark when I wasn't well," Belle tells her. "It's certainly an interesting taste."

" _Interesting_ is much nicer of a word than I'd have chosen," Regina says, sighing as she nonetheless accepts the tea. "The hot water and ice feel nice, though."

Robin grins. "Tell me if it's too cold."

"It's the middle of summer," Regina says flatly as she watches him press the covered ice to his arm to test it. "It feels wonderful." She grins a little as he sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls away the once-warm cloth, replacing it with the ice, and she sucks in a breath. "See? Wonderful," she murmurs as she looks to him. "I… don't think a doctor is really necessary for this. I think–"

"Like I said," he cuts in. "I don't want to take any risks with you."

"It's a sprained ankle, Robin."

"I know that, or… I think I do," he sighs. "But I'd like it confirmed by someone who actually knows about these things." He pauses and his shoulders square. "I'd feel just terrible if it were broken and we didn't treat it properly and your foot healed the wrong way, and… instead of pointing straight ahead of you it veered to the left or something."

At that, she giggles. "Fine."

"You'd never find shoes," he teases as her eyes roll. "And though I wouldn't mind it, you'd work yourself into a tizzy whenever I'd have to carry you up and down the stairs because you like to be independent and–"

"Well, forgive me for enjoying _walking_ on my own."

He grins. "Which is why I want you to be seen by a doctor."

"And, I think _tizzy_ is an overstatement," she sighs as her arms fold over her chest. "I should just try to see if I can walk. It'd been well over an hour and–"

"Sprains take longer than an hour to heal."

Her brow arches as she looks to him, and Belle giggles. "I thought you wanted to wait for a doctor before doling out medical advice."

"So, you admit it'd be a good idea to have a doctor look at you."

Regina sighs and again, Belle giggles. "I suppose."

"Can I get you anything else, m'lady?" Belle asks. "I promised Mrs. Beakley I'd help her make dinner. I know that's not a part of my duties, but I just thought–"

"I'm perfectly fine here," Regina cuts in. "Thank you for all of your help this morning."

"And if Regina needs anything, I am more than capable of getting whatever it is for her myself," Robin says. "Thank you."

Belle smiles and nods, and then disappears into the hall–and it's not until she's gone that an awkward silence falls between them for the first time that day.

Both do their best to fill it–talking generally about the boys and the ham salad sandwiches Mrs. Beakley had made for them for lunch the day before and how much they'd enjoyed them. They talk about the warm weather and the rain and the excess of mud it created between the house and the stables, and Regina jokes about the mud puddles being a motivation for them to help Winston with his morning chores.

He laughs in surprise when she explains how Roland likes to milk Greta the Cow and how he only prefers to gathering eggs because the hens scare him–and he feels his heart grow a bit heavier when she talks about how comfortable Henry seems in the barn and makes a passing comment about it simply being in his blood.

As they wait together for the doctor, it seems they talk about everything that doesn't matter–and in some ways, he's relieved for that. It feels normal to be sitting together and making small talk–it feel the way it did before.

Finally, after a while, he hears Mrs. Potter's voice and the sound of footsteps coming nearer and nearer–and he can't help but notice that she looks a little disappointed, as though she's not quite ready for their conversation to end. Nonetheless, he gets up from the bed as Mrs. Potter enters, introducing them both to Doctor Hopper.

Doctor Hopper has a gentle disposition and after a few minutes of quick explanations of what happened and where Regina's pain is, Robin and Mrs. Potter excuse themselves, allowing Doctor Hopper to examine her. Mrs. Potter retreats downstairs, patting Robin on the arm as she passes him–a subtle show of her approval.

"He smells like peppermint," Roland giggles as he peeks around the corner. "Do you think he has some?"

"I don't know," Robin says, as a grin pulls onto his lips. "And you probably shouldn't ask him."

Roland's brow creases with concern. "Why not?"

"Because he might give you _medicine_ and not candy." He can't help but laugh as Roland's eyes widen as he looks with slight panic to the closed bedroom door. "So, where's your partner in crime?" Roland blinks and looks back at him. "Henry," Robin clarifies. "Where is Henry?"

He grins as Roland turns and looks behind himself, and it's only then that he notices the Henry-shaped shadow looming from around the corner. "He thinks he's in trouble," Roland tells him.

"And why does Henry think that?" Robin asks, his voice rising as he cranes his neck in an attempt to see Henry. "Because I can't imagine any reason that Henry would be in trouble."

Roland's eyes widen. "Because he left his shoe on the stair and now his mama's broken."

"Regina isn't _broken_ ," Robin says, again raising his voice. "And it's not Henry's fault."

A grin tugs on to his lips as Henry peeks around the corner. "It was my shoe," he says in a loud whisper.

"It was your shoe, but you didn't mean for you mama to trip."

"I know," Henry sighs as he comes out into the hall. "But it still happened."

"And she _is_ always telling us not to leave our shoes on the stairs," Roland says, nodding as he places a hand on Henry's shoulder as if he's supposed to help. " _Especially_ when they're muddy."

Robin sighs as Henry's face falls, and he lifts him up, balancing him on his hip. "She's not mad at you, Henry." He grins and rests his head against the boy's. "I don't think it's possible for her to be mad at you."

"That's not true," Henry blinks. "She gets mad at me all the time." He pauses. "Like when I…"

"And it takes under five minutes for her to get over it." Robin watches as a grin curls onto her his lips. He laughs softly and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "And it's been well over five minutes, so even if she was angry… her anger's already reached its expiration point."

Henry giggles as the door opens, and Doctor Hopper waves them in. Robin reaches for Roland's hand as they step into the room, and they're barely over the threshold before Roland runs forward and climbs into the bed with Regina–and he can't help but smile as she wraps her arm around him and hugs him into her side.

"So, what's the diagnosis?"

"You were right," Doctor Hopper says. "Her ankle is sprained–and it's a pretty bad sprain."

Robin glances over at Henry and rubs his hand soothingly over his back. "It's better than a break."

"That's generally true," Dr. Hopper says as he looks between them. "Though it sometimes hurts more."

Regina sighs and nods. "I think I fall into the _sometimes_ category."

"I'm sorry," Henry says in a small voice as he looks to Regina from over Robin's shoulder. "I shouldn't have left my shoes on the stairs."

"I told him not to," Roland says, looking up at Regina. "I did."

"I bet you did, sweetie," Regina murmurs as she presses a kiss to his messy hair. "And Doctor Hopper gave me a laudanum powder for the pain…" Robin watches as her eyes shift to Henry. "And as long as I keep it wrapped and elevated and stay off it as much as I can–"

"And rotate cold and warm compresses," Doctor Hopper says, looking to Robin.

"Right, and keep rotating cold and warm compresses," Regina repeats as a little laugh rises into her voice. "And once I do that for a week for so, I should be as good as new."

"Really?" Henry asks as he looks shyly toward his mother. "So, you're not mad at me?"

Regina shakes her head. "No, sweetheart. I'm not mad."

"Told you," Robin says, chuckling softly as presses a kiss to Henry's cheek and sets him down–and a moment later, Henry's climbing into the bed with Roland and Regina. "Thank you, Doctor Hopper. We appreciate you coming here on such short notice."

"Oh, it was my pleasure," the doctor says as he reaches for his bag. "Oh, and, Regina shouldn't travel." He nods as he looks between them. "She mentioned you were planning on traveling in the next few days, but–"

"We can postpone that," Robin cuts in, unable to stop the smile from stretching across his lips–and as he glance up, he can't help but notice Regina wearing the same sort of smile.

They spent most of the remainder of the day in bed with Henry and Roland.

Mrs. Beakley sent up Belle with the what was left of the ham salad sandwiches for lunch and Robin brings in the book Regina's been reading to the boys before bed each night. After they eat, the boys cuddle up on either side of her as she reads–and he tends to Regina's ankle.

The swelling had gone down slightly, but every time his fingers touched her foot, she'd wince in pain–and after awhile, he was finally able to convince her to drink the powder.

And within a few minutes, she was dozing–and the boys were getting restless.

Robin called John to take them out for a walk on the grounds, and from the window he watches as they jumped in mud puddles and twirl around on the grass. He smiled softly and sat down on the bed, and laid back against the pillows beside her.

It'd been a surprisingly good day, and though he hated that Regina was injured and in pain, he was glad they wouldn't be returning to Sherwood just yet, that they'd have more time together at the lodge–and hopefully, they could put a little distance between Regina and her mother.

Mrs. Beakley brings up dinner on a tray and feeds the boys in the kitchen–and by nightfall, the boys are tucked into their beds and Regina is finally waking up.

"How long was I asleep?" she murmurs groggily as she turns her head over on her pillow.

"A few hours…"

"And you've just been sitting here with me?"

He shrugs. "I got up to tuck in the boys."

"But otherwise…"

"Otherwise, I've been here the whole time."

She grins. "How exciting for you."

Rolling onto his side, he props his face up in his hand. "It was, actually."

"Was it," she says, her voice filled with doubt as her brow arches. "I can't imagine just watching me sleep is all that interesting."

"Oh, but it is…" He laughs. "You were awfully chatty. I–" He stops as her smile fades and her eyes widen with that same fearful look that filled them that morning. "Regina, I was teasing you. You weren't–"

"You're sure? I didn't say anything?" Her eyes close and she she bites down on her bottom lip. "I just–"

"No," he cuts in. "You didn't say anything." He takes a breath and slowly reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ears. "Is there… something you want to tell me?" She hesitates and he can see her shoulders tense. "Or just…something you want to talk about maybe?"

"Robin, I…"

"You don't have to respond to that," he says, letting his fingers linger at her jaw. "I just keep thinking about yesterday morning and that letter, and…even though I have no idea what your mother said, I'm pretty certain she was wrong." He watches a grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "And I just want to make sure that you know you can tell me anything, that your secrets are safe with me."

"My secrets…"

"Or whatever you'd confide."

"Even if you'd only end up hating me?"

He sighs. "That's not possible."

"You don–"

"I do know, Regina. I do know that I could never hate you." He pauses as his fingers slip to her chin and his eyes narrow slightly. "You know there isn't anything you could say or or do… or already have done, that could change the way I feel about you. You know that, don't you?"

"I…. think you want to believe that."

He can't help but laugh as he shakes his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Taking her breath she turns her head on her pillow and looks up at the ceiling, and his smile fades when she doesn't laugh, too.. "I just don't want to disappoint you."

"You couldn't."

At that she scoffs, and then she looks back to him. "So I didn't disappoint you when I told you I didn't want more children?"

For a minute, he's quiet. He's not quite sure how to respond to that. He'd be lying if he told her the _information_ hadn't been disappointing or that he didn't want more children—but that was different than _her_ being a disappointment. Though he doubted she'd see the difference.

"I was… surprised," he admits slowly, still grappling with how to proceed. "It surprised me that you wouldn't want another one."

"Why is that surprising?"

He shrugs. "Part of the reason I wanted to marry you, part of the reason I fell in love with you is because you're such a wonderful, loving mother." A hint of a smile edges on to her lips and her eyes soften. "Henry is a lucky boy and so is Roland. One of the best things I've been able to do for my son is to bring you into his life."

"Roland is easy to love. He's such a sweet child."

"I agree, but, of course, I'm a bit biased when it comes to Roland."

"And what do our sons have to do with having another child?"

Her eyes are wide and curious, and she doesn't sound upset or hurt, so he continues. "You seem to enjoy children and I enjoy them, so I just sort of assumed one day we'd have one together."

"Oh…"

"We don't have to…"

"But you want another one."

He takes a breath. "I do." He watched as she turns her head on the pillow, again staring up at the ceiling. For awhile neither of them say anything; instead, they just lay together in silence.

"It isn't you," she says after a while, finally breaking the silence. "It's just…"

"You don't have to explain," he tells her. "You don't need a reason."

She nods and swallows hard–and her eyes press closed and she draws in a breath. "If we had a child, it'd just be used as a pawn."

He blinks—that hadn't been at all what he expected her to say. "For who?"

"My mother."

"Ah…"

"She thinks that I need to have a child to create a permanent bond between us, a link that can't be severed. She thinks…" Her voice trails off and she sighs, and her eyes open again. "Our child would be her meal ticket."

"Regina, that's…"

"And then there's… whatever angle your father is trying to work."

"My father isn't–"

"Robin, what if I resent it?" Her eyes are wide and glassy and her voice hitches in her throat. "Robin, I don't know that I–"

"I think you're getting ahead of herself. You're not even–or we don't know if–" He sighs as his voice halts. It seems too soon to be having this conversation, but she's looking at him in a way he's never seen her look before. He watches as she swallows, her jaw trembling as she tries to fight her tears, and she looks so vulnerable and scared–and he realizes she's reached a point where she feel comfortable enough with him to confide in him and to trust him. His lips part, but he hesitates and slowly reaches out and rubs the back of his fingers over her arm. "Where is this coming from? This isn't… completely about that letter, is it?"

Her eyes fall away from his and she draws in a breath. "No… not entirely."

"You can tell me," he says in a soft voice. "You can tell me anything."

She nods and then slowly, looks up at him. "I, um… I told you that I… um… that I had a miscarriage, right?"

"Just after Daniel died."

"Right," she murmurs, nodding as she draws in a breath. "I didn't know that I was pregnant until I lost it, and I was…. just in such a bad place and… I…"

He tails his fingers up and down her arm, and he grins softly, hoping that it'll put her at ease. "Just because you _can_ tell me anything, doesn't mean you _have_ to."

"I know… I just… I want you to understand, but I'm so worried that you're going to–"

"I can't hate you, Regina." He shrugs as his fingers curl around her wrist and rub gently at her skin. "Even if I found out you…" He takes a breath when she looks back to him, her eyes still wide and full of fear–and suddenly it occurs to him that there are some secrets she may want to keep, some things she'd rather not acknowledge. "Even I found out you were a mass-murdering madwoman."

A grin curls onto her lips and she chuckles softly. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not that."

"Well, I'm glad that's cleared up," he says, smiling as her lip catches between her teeth. "I've been wondering."

"I'm sure you have."

"You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to tell me."

"I know," she nods. "But, um…" She sucks in a breath and again her eyes close, and he watches a few tears escape from the corners of her eyes. "I was relieved."

"What?"

"When I… when I miscarried." Regina inhales a shaky breath as her eyes once more meet him. "I miscarried a baby and I was _relieved_. What kind of per–"

"No, no, no," he cuts in. "Don't go there."

"Robin…"

"You were in a bad place. You were… young and alone, and you had a toddler and… you'd just lost your husband and…" He sighs as the dull ache he'd barely realized in chest begins to throb. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love, someone you… thought you'd be spending your whole life with. Your whole life had been turned upside down and… I can only imagine how lost you felt."

"I did feel lost," she admits, hiccuping as her eyes flutter open. "But, I…"

"It's alright, Regina…"

"Is it?" She asks, looking up at him with those wide, scared eyes. "What if it wasn't just that? What if I just… what if I don't–" Her voice halts as her breath catches–and the throbbing in his chest worsens. Before he's even aware of it, before even lets himself wonder if he should or if it's appropriate, he edges himself closer to her and slides his arm around her. He rests his forehead against hair and breathes her in, hoping that there's something he can do or say that comforts her. "I just… don't want to disappoint you."

"You couldn't. I told you that."

"But you–"

"But I want a child." He sighs and pulls back slightly, and she turns to face him. "This is still new. We're still new," he tells her. "And I'm not saying that I want us to have a child tomorrow or–"

"Well, I certainly hope not," she murmurs as a hint of a smile forms on her lips. "It takes a little longer than that."

"It does," he says as he feels a smile tug onto his lips. "And I think before we have a conversation about having children or make any decisions about it, we should… keep getting to know each other."

"I'd like to keep getting to know you…"

"I'm glad because I've really enjoyed getting to know you, getting to fall in love with you and…"

"Robin…"

"All I'm saying is… why don't we revisit this conversation in a year. And if you still feel the same and you don't want to have anymore children, then… we won't."

"What if I change my mind?"

"Then… we will, eventually," he murmurs, smiling as he shrugs his shoulders. "Either way, I think we'll be alright."

"Do you?"

"I do," he says, the confidence in his voice surprising even him. "I love you–and even though you haven't said it, I think that… you might… love me, too." He chuckles softly as Regina's eyes widen as she holds her breath, and he thinks he sees a hint of a smile forming. "You don't have to say it," he's quick to add. "I just…"

"Robin, I…"

"I know."

A grin twists onto her lips as she leans in, rubbing her nose to his as her hand slips up over his jaw–and then he leans in the rest of the way. He kisses her softly, glad to take things slowly and glad that the distance between them hadn't lasted for very long.


	17. Chapter 17

She wasn't lying to him.

An omission of information wasn't lying–and he said himself that she was entitled to her secrets.

And that's what she told herself–and as long as he didn't ask, she wasn't lying.

Robin's hand slips into her hair as he rolls forward, pushing her onto her back as arms link around his shoulders. Her head presses back into the into the pillows and she smiles against his mouth as his hand slides over her hip, pushing at the thin muslin fabric of her nightdress. Her tongue swirls around his as her hand slides up the back of his neck–and she wishes things could be different, that she could go back and change things, that she wasn't perpetually bound to taint everything good in her life.

"Robin," she breathes out, swallowing hard as she presses her hand to his chest and pushes him back. "We need to get up."

"Says who?"

"Our sons."

"I don't hear anyone saying anything," he tells her as a coy grin edges onto her lips. "Besides, we're the parents and we set the rules." He leans back in and pecks her lips. "So, if we want to stay in bed all morning, then we can. We get to decide that."

Her eyes rolls as she pushes him back again, and she can't help but grin. "And we should just… ignore all of our responsibilities–"

"Yes."

"Robin, we're adults, we can't just–"

"That's the beauty of being an adult, we can do whatever we want regardless of how irresponsible it is."

She chuckles softly as Robin rolls back to his side of the bed. "Is that how it works?"

"It is if we say it is."

"And what exactly do you anticipate _doing_ if we were to stay in bed all morning?"

She laughs out as he shrugs his eyes brows. "Well, I don't know. I was thinking we could… just… see where things take us."

"See where things take us?" she repeats, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest. "And where are you hoping _things_ will take us?"

A grin tugs onto the corner of his mouth. "Wherever."

"Robin, you know how I feel about… that."

"I do," he nods. "And I respect that."

"Do you?" she asks, chuckling softly as he feigns innocence. "Is that why your hand was traveling underneath my nightgown and–"

"Touching isn't going to lead to…"

"Oh, no?"

"No," he says, reaching out and taking her hand. "I can behave myself." he tells her, lacing his fingers down through hers. "I promise."

Taking a breath, she rubs her thumb across his wrist. "But if we keep doing what we were doing, there's a very good chance that we're going to do… something… that…"

"You don't want to do," Robin says, giving her hand a little squeeze as he draws in a breath. "The night we got married, I told you that I'd never force you. I meant that and–"

"That's… not what I'm worried about," she cuts in as her chest tightens. "I just… don't know that I'd be able to stop myself." She looks away and she feels her cheeks warm–she hadn't meant to say that, but she hadn't meant to kiss him either. Her eyes press closed and she draws in another breath as Robin's fingers slide down her palm–and again, that little voice at the back of her head, the voice that sounds a lot like her mother's, reminds her of all the reasons she does need to stop herself and all the reasons she can't completely give in to her feelings…

"Regina," Robin murmurs as his hand slide up her arm. "All we were doing is kissing."

"I know, but it felt like we–"

"I understand that you don't want another child, Regina. I do." She nods and her eyes open, and despite the knot in her stomach, she can't help but grin when their eyes meet and a little smile edges onto his lips–and again, she wishes that things were different, that she'd made different choices, that she didn't have to keep him at arm's length. "You know, Regina, there _are_ things we can do that wouldn't have consequences."

"Wouldn't have consequences…"

"Yes, things that wouldn't potentially result in you being pregnant."

"Ah," she nods, chuckling softly. "I… I think those things are the reason I have a son, Robin." Leaning in, she pecks his lips and then, drawing in a breath, she pulls back. "It's well after eight. We should be getting downstairs."

"Regina…"

She shakes her head as she pulls back the blankets, adjusting her nightgown as she starts to get out of the bed–but Robin's hand reaches out and curls loosely around her wrist. She looks back at him and then to his hand as it slides down to hers, and she watches as his fingers fold down around hers.

"It's ten after eight," he tells her. "It's still early. The boys are eating oatmeal with Mrs. Beakley, and I'm pretty certain last night at dinner Henry was pretty excited about making cookies with her to take on our trip back to Sherwood, so they're going to be occupied for at least a couple of hours…"

"So, we shouldn't bother to get up and get dressed and–"

"We could call for breakfast to be brought up to us."

"You… want to have breakfast in bed?"

"Regina, it's our last day here. I want to enjoy it."

"By staying in bed…"

"With you."

She hesitates and her bottom lip catches between her teeth. She wants nothing more than to climb back into bed with him–to waste away the morning with him, for the only consequence to be missing a meal. There was a part of her that wanted to just forget it all, a part of her that wanted to forget about her mother's letter and the not-so-veiled threats it contained; there was a part of her that wanted her to throw off all responsibility for her mother's words and deeds, to trust that no matter what happened, everything would be alright–and there was a part of her that ached to let herself be happy and carefree, that wanted to believe that this time, nothing would come along and rip it away, that no one would get hurt.

But she couldn't.

She loved him too much to be careless.

It was bad enough that she'd let it go on as far as it had–that she _had_ managed to forget, that she _had_ been willing to risk it all–and she wouldn't let her mother do to him what she always did, she wouldn't let her play on his emotions or use his good nature against him.

She wouldn't let her mother taint him–or worse.

"We shouldn't."

"Give me one _good_ reason," he counters as a grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth, his dimples to sinking to his cheeks–and forcing a soft smile to tug across her lips. "Because as of right now, I can't think of any reason we shouldn't stay in bed all morning." His thumb rubs at her wrist and suddenly, her head feels cloudy and she can't manage to find the words to argue. "Nothing has to happen. I just… want to stay in this little bubble for a little longer," he tells her, sighing as she feels herself leaning back. "By late afternoon, we'll be on our way back to Sherwood. We're in for a long night of traveling–traveling with two small and energetic children, who will apparently be fueled by sugar cookies–and I don't know about you, but I never sleep well when I'm traveling." He pauses and sighs, and his smile fades. "And then, when we get back to Sherwood…"

"It's back to reality."

"Precisely," he says, nodding as their eyes meet. "So, let's take a little while to enjoy… this."

She's nodding before she makes up her mind, and by the time she's stretching her legs out beneath the thin blanket that covers the bed, Robin's lips are ghosting across her jaw and he's smiling against her skin. His beard tickles and she feels herself relaxing as she takes his advice and pushes reality away, reminding herself that what's done is done, and as long as nothing else happens and as long as she's careful, she can't make anything worse–at least not here.

Regina turns her head and catches his lips between hers as she rolls onto her side. Robin's hand cups her cheek and the other finds her hip, and for awhile, she loses herself in the kiss–enjoying him and the way he makes her feel, enjoying that momentary happiness he brings her.

She pushes him back as his fingers tangled in her hair–and her breath catches in her throat as his hands slips beneath her nightdress. He's barely touching her, but she can feel the warmth of his skin as it sends tingly sensations down her spine as they push upward, skimming up her thigh.

"Mm, Robin we…"

"We're not doing anything."

"Aren't we?" she breathes out, swallowing hard as she tries to focus. "Because it certainly _feels_ like something."

He laughs and pulls back as his hand flattens at the top of her thigh, his fingers touching her hip. "Well, nothing that would lead to… any sort of consequence." He shrugs and grins coyly. "We're just… having some fun."

"The sort of fun that _leads_ to other things with unwanted consequences."

"I can be a gentleman," he insists. "I can control myself."

Regina laughs and nods as she rolls onto her back and away from him. "It's not _you_ who can't be trusted." Robin's brow arches as he chuckles as she turns onto her side and tucks her hand beneath her cheek. "Is there any part of you that's looking forward to returning to Sherwood?"

"No," he's quick to say–and she laughs in response. "Just my sense of obligation."

"Worried that you father's managed to rewrite the will?"

"More like evicted all the tenants when he realized new tenants wouldn't know the difference if he raised their rent and took a larger chunk of their profits."

Her brow creases. "Would he do that?"

"He loves money and exerting his power and–" Robin sighs. "I don't think so."

"But you want to check in…" He nods and a smile twists onto her lips. "Does this mean you'll be spending a day in the village when we return?"

"I think so," he says, nodding. "That is, if you'll come with me."

"I wouldn't be opposed, but you don't need me to–"

"Of course I need you," he cuts in. "Besides, I think we'll need to adjust slowly back to being at Sherwood, take it a little bit at a time." Regina sighs and nods, dreading the thought of returning to walking on eggshells due to a staff that hates her father-in-law who wishes she wasn't there. "You know, I was thinking we could… travel lightly this time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we brought so much with us…"

"Because we were here for weeks," she tells him, chuckling softly. "You sent John and Belle up days before with all of our trunks so we didn't need to take a caravan to get here."

Robin nods. "And that's just it," he says, taking a breath. "I was thinking we could leave some things here, so that the next time, we won't need the caravan or my valet to leave days ahead of schedule." He grins. "And I won't have to drive the carriage."

"You didn't have to do that, anyway," she tells him. "One of the–" She stops suddenly as a smile edges onto her lips. "Did you say next time?"

"I did."

"You want us to come back here?"

"I do," he says easily as he nods. "Perhaps for Christmas."

"Christmas…"

Again, he nods. "I don't know what your family's traditions are, but–"

"We don't have any," she says, cutting in. "My mother used to make us all go to church, but I'm not exactly welcome there… and if I am, I don't feel comfortable with… all of those judging eyes staring at me and my son." She shrugs as her eyes meet his. "So, no… no traditions."

"My father always wants to go to Church, too–it's the one day a year he's a religious man and he expects the rest of us to follow suit." She's not sure why, but she chuckles–she's never been overly religious, but she's also never been a hypocrite, and for all her sins, she's never pretended to be something she wasn't or held others to a standard that she personally couldn't meet. "It's likely to apologize for whatever sins he commits the night before."

Her brow furrows. "And how exactly do the Locksleys' spend Christmas Eve?"

"Well, the elder Locksley likes to host a masquerade ball."

"Ah…"

"I'm not sure what it is about uppity people putting on masks, but they always behave horribly and do the stupidest, careless things."

"Hence the need to apologize to God the following morning."

"Precisely."

"And how do the younger Locksley men usually spend their Christmases?"

He grins. "Shut up in a room by the fire," he tells her. "Roland's birthday is on Christmas Eve, so we like to have our own little celebration, one that's just for us."

Regina's eyes widen. "I didn't know…"

"I don't think I ever told you."

"And by the start of the New Year, we… slip into mourning."

"For Marian…"

"Yes."

"I'm–"

"Don't apologize," he cuts in. "Of all people, you shouldn't apologize."

"I didn't mean it like that," she says slowly. "I just–"

"You've made my son and I so much happier than we've ever been, and for the first time in Roland's lifetime, I think we'd like to… spend those days celebrating."

She nods and bites down on her lip as a grin tugs at the corner. "Celebrating in a ways that doesn't involved uppity masked people behaving badly?"

"I think I'd like to come here."

"In the middle of winter?" she asks, her eyes widening. "Do you think it'll be manageable? The weather is so unpredictable in the winter."

Robin laughs. "I'm hardly going to let some bad weather stop us." He shrugs and she feels her heart beating just a little faster. "I want to spend the holidays here–and we'll leave well before they actually get started–and I want to spend the holidays with just you and the boys."

"Sometimes you can't control the weather. It's not–"

"I am very determined," he cuts in, chuckling softly. "You might have noticed, but I don't give up very easily."

"No?"

"I won you over, didn't I?"

Regina laughs. "I'd… like to think I wasn't some sort of contest or–"

"That's not what I meant," he interjects, his tone soft and his blue eyes sparkling, "I just meant that for awhile, it seemed impossible that you'd fall in love with me and–"

"Have I fallen in love with you?" she asks, her breath catching in her chest. "Is that what's happened?"

"I think it is," he tells her. "But, of course, only you really know the answer to that."

She nods and a smile twists onto her lips. "Perhaps that's one of those secrets I want to keep… just… just for a little while longer."

"You can keep it for as long as you need to," he says, leaning in and pecking her lips. "And, in the meantime, I'll work on persuading the weather to let us travel safely in December."

"You do that," she murmurs as she draws in a long breath and fights off the urge to lean forward and kiss him back–to push him down onto the pillows and kiss him until they were both too dizzy and drunk on each other to stop themselves from letting things for further than they'd allow if they were in their rights minds. "Can I ask you something?" she says instead, swallowing hard as she lets her eyes meet his. "It's… personal and you don't have to answer."

Robin nods. "Ask me anything."

"Why didn't you ever bring Marian here? Why did you stay away so long and… why did you stay away at all?"

She watches as takes a deep breath and his smile fades a little. "I… wanted my father's approval," he says simply. "It wasn't until after Marian died that I realized my father's approval wasn't worth striving for. I loved Marian, but I don't think I was the husband she deserved." He pauses for a moment and she watches as he slips away from the present moment, wallowing for a few minutes in the past as a silence falls between them. "I wanted my father to approve of the choices I made, to be proud of me… to love me, and… then Marian was gone and I had my infant son to think of, and–" He shrugs. "And you're the first person I've ever wanted to bring here." He takes a breath. "Truth be told, until you came around, I'd all but forgotten about this place."

She nods, not sure of what to say–and still, though he's looking directly at her, he seems lost in his memories. "I didn't know Marian, of course, but… I think it's safe to say you were a good husband to her."

"I'm not so sure."

"Robin, you're–" She stops and for a moment, she doesn't say anything, but she finds herself thinking about her own insecurities and how there were times she'd felt so inadequate when she was married to Daniel, how she'd worried that she wasn't enough or wasn't what he really wanted–and though Daniel never gave her any sort of indication that that was true, she'd felt it and she'd believed it. "Like I said," she says, beginning again. "I didn't know Marian, but I do know the man you are and the sort of husband you are, and… I am sure that Marian would agree with me and that you were a wonderful husband to her."

"You have a lot of faith in me."

She finds herself nodding easily. "I do," she tells him. "You've never given me a reason not to have faith in you." She pauses and sighs, shaking her head. "And I also know a thing or two about the guilt that creeps into your memories after you loses someone you love far too soon, and… I also know that blaming yourself for that loss is sometimes easier than admitting that it was out of your control."

Taking a long breath, she slowly releases it as she edges closer to him. Instinctively, he rolls onto his back as her arm stretches around him and her head rests on his chest.

"I'm glad to have a second chance," he murmurs softly as his arm fold around her.

"I am, too," she admits quietly. "And I think spending Christmas here–Christmas and Roland's birthday–would be wonderful, and completely worth the hassle of traveling in bad weather."

Robin presses a kiss to her hair. "I'll let Winston and Mrs. Potter know before we leave today."

"I'll… be counting down the days," she tells him, her voice barely audible as her thoughts begin to spiral around Daniel and Sherwood and the secrets she both wanted to keep to herself and the ones she wished she could tell. "This was a good idea," she says, peering up at him. "Staying in bed and–"

"Behaving."

"Yes," she says, laughing a little as she tilts her chin down and presses a kiss to his nightshirt. "Even if it does mean missing one of our last edible breakfasts until December."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he says, chuckling softly as he reaches for the cord hanging near the bed poll. "Would it be terribly shocking or embarrassing if Belle or John, or even Mrs. Potter came in and found us together like this?"

"I don't care," she sighs. "I'm not moving."

Robin tugs on the cord, then folds his arm back around her. "You think Mrs. Beakley will make us French toast?"

"I certainly hope so," Regina laughs as she tilts her head up to look at him. "I'm not really looking forward to returning to boiled eggs and sourdough toast and prune jams for breakfast. It'd be nice to have one last, decent meal."

"I think she'll take pity on us," Robin decides. "Especially if we tell her about that damn prune jam."

Again, Regina laughs and cuddles in a little closer in an effort to hang onto the little bit of comfortable happiness they'd found together in the past few weeks while they'd stayed at the hunting lodge–and she hoped that when they returned to Sherwood, there wouldn't be a reason to push him away or give up what they had, because she wasn't sure that she could bear it and she most certainly didn't want to.

Because _this_ wasn't a lie.

It's early evening by the time they leave the hunting lodge.

It'd been a hard thing to do and it seemed they'd found every possible excuse to delay it. But finally, their trunks were loaded onto the back of the carriage and the boys were settled on one seat with a tin of cookies and the illustrated copy of Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes that Regina had been reading to them before bed tucked between them. He took a breath and watched as Regina stared out the window, watching as the staff who'd lined up in front of the house to say their goodbyes got smaller and smaller as John drove the carriage away–and his lungs deflated when she slowly turned back, smiling wistfully at the boys as they rounded a bend and the staff at the lodge disappear from view.

Robin takes her hand and gives it a soft squeeze–and he pushes away the temptation to ask John to turn around as guilt starts to bubble up inside of him.

It'd always been the plan for this to be a short little summer getaway. He'd wanted them to have some time for themselves, some time to get away from her mother and his father, and all of the expectations that were put upon them. He knew that she was uncomfortable at Sherwood–even though she'd never admitted that–and he knew that she spent her days holding her breath and just waiting for the other shoe to fall. And though he was reluctant to admit it, he knew the way the staff felt about her–what they thought of her–and he hated that he was powerless to change that.

In the months since they'd married, they'd gotten closer. She'd learned to trust him and, if anything, a friendship had formed between them, and just before they'd decided to leave for the hunting lodge, that friendship began blossoming into more. He was in love her–but that wasn't new, a part of him had been in love with her since the first time he'd seen her–and she was in love with him. She was slower to admit it, though–and that was okay. She didn't need to say it–and once they'd arrived and settled in at the lodge, something had just clicked between them.

Her reluctance faded. She was freer and more open, more willing to take risks. She didn't seem to constantly be looking over her shoulder to see who was watching or listening and when there were people around to see or hear, she didn't care. She still smiled and flirted, she let him kiss her and she kissed him back, and she didn't feel the need to explain anything to anyone. They were married and in love, and no one questioned why.

Now, they were on their way back to Sherwood where everyone questioned everything–and he could feel her insecurity and anxiety creeping back in.

A reluctant smile pulls onto her lips as he looks down at her, folding his arm around her as her falls to his shoulder–and again, he finds himself wishing he didn't have responsibilities that require him to return to Sherwood, that they could just stay in the happy and safe little bubble of the hunting lodge.

For the most part, the ride is quiet–and with each mile that passes, the boys grow sleepier and by nightfall, they'd cuddled up together on the carriage's leather bench, each with a hand in the now half-empty cookie tin.

Regina's head rises from his shoulder as the carriage slows and she blinks groggily at him as her brow creases as she squints and looks out the window.

"Look who's up," he murmurs softly as they approach a little country inn. "You were really out…"

"Mm, how long was I sleeping?"

"About an hour," he tells her as the carriage halts. "And I suspect in just a few minutes, you'll be able to go back to sleep."

At that she grins at him through hooded eyes, and John opens the carriage door for them. Robin helps her down and then lifts both boys up into his arms and they both chuckle softly at the way Roland clutches the cookie tin–and he can't help but smile as Regina's arm slides across his lower back and she rests her head on his arm as they walk toward the inn. They get rooms for John and Belle, and one for themselves and the boys before making tentative plans to meet again before breakfast–and within just a few minutes of reaching their room, he has the boys tucked in on opposite ends of the sofa by the fireplace.

He takes a moment to smile at them as he tucks a blanket around each of them. Roland burrows back against his pillow, hugging the blanket to his chin as a content little sigh escapes him–and just as he's leaning in to press kisses to each of the boys' cheeks, Henry's eyes flutter open.

"My dragon," he murmurs, groggily as he blinks up at him. "I can't sleep without my dragon."

"Nor should you," Robin whispers, turning to the suitcases piled in the corner and rummaging through them hastily until he finds the little dragon–and when the dragon is safely clutched in Henry's hands, Robin watches as his eyes sink closed again.

"Well, they went down easily," he murmurs softly, turning back toward Regina–and he can't help but laugh and shake his head when he finds her fully dressed and asleep on the bed. "And, apparently, so did you."

Robin sighs as he rounds the bed, sitting down on the edge as he unbuckles Regina's shoes and drops them to the floor. He rubs his hand over her ankle–pressing lightly and partially expecting her to wake up, but she doesn't. He chuckles softly as he pulls his hand away and draws the blanket up around her. It occurs to him, as he moves to his side of the bed, that he should change into night clothes, but he didn't bother to change the boys before putting them down and Regina's still fully dressed–and suddenly, it feels unnecessary and far too cumbersome to change.

He grabs a novel he snagged from the library at the hunting lodge and gets into bed, and just as he's getting into the story, he hears a little whimper from across the room.

Henry is sitting up on the couch with his bottom lip pouted out, struggling to keep his tears at bay.

"What's the matter?" Robin asks, folding the book down in his lap. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"No," Henry says in a barely audible voice.

"Oh, then…?"

"My stomach hurts."

Robin nods as he gets out of bed. It's not surprising that Henry has a stomach ache. Between the time they left the hunting lodge and the time they arrived at the inn, the boys had finished off half of the tin of butter cookies that Mrs. Beakley had packed for them. They'd easily eaten a dozen or more.

"Too many cookies?"

Henry shakes his head. "No, I don't think it's that."

"No?" Robin asks as a grin twists onto his lips and he reaches for their overnight bags. "Well, whatever reason your stomach hurts, I think I've got something to settle it." He offers Henry a quick wink as he rummages through the suitcase until he finds the glass bottle from Doctor Hopper. "Remember how you and Roland thought Doctor Hopper smelled like peppermint?" Henry nods. "That's because he had peppermint with him."

"Candy?" Henry asks, brightening slightly as he cranes his neck to see whatever it is that Robin holds. "Did he leave us candy?"

"Us? No," Robin says, laughing softly. "But he did leave some for your mama."

"Why?"

"Because the medicine he gave her for the pain could make her feel sort of sick," he explains as he lifts Henry from the sofa. "And if she felt sick to her stomach…"

"Like I do now?"

"Yes," Robin says, nodding as he takes Henry over to the bed. "He said that if she felt sick to her stomach from the medicine, he could suck on some peppermint or put it in her tea."

"Did she?"

"Feel sick?" Henry nods as they get into the bed. "Not so much, but a little."

"Oh…"

"It wasn't your fault, you know," he says as he pops open the top of the glass bottle–and he grins as Henry breathes in the sharp smell of the peppermint. "Here, try some," he says as he pulls out a little white cube. "Don't chew it…"

Henry nods and takes the peppermint cube, and she smiles gently as he sucks on it. "It's good."

"It should help soon," Robin tells him, as he places the bottle on the nightstand at the side of the bed. "So, if it wasn't the cookies, what do you think made your stomach upset?"

Henry shrugs. "I don't know…"

"No?" Robin sighs–and his thoughts drift back to the conversation he had with John the week before. He's not sure Henry trusts him enough to confide in him, but he's been curious about what's been happening in the nursery at Sherwood when he and Regina aren't around. It occurs to him that Henry might not tell him anything, that he might be worried about getting in trouble or that the way Celeste treats him is acceptable–or worse, that it's deserved.

Though it hasn't been said outright, he knows that Henry's struggled with acceptance as much as Regina has–and in the months he's gotten to know the boy, he's come to realize that Henry is absolutely his mother's son. Like Regina, Henry strives to please. He doesn't speak out often and he pretends not to be bothered when someone says something cruel to him. Sure, there's a moment of shock and tears will well in his eyes–but an hour later, he's always back to his regular self, laughing and playing as though nothing has happened. He keeps things to himself–often staying quiet and pushing down his feelings.

Regina spent her childhood doing the same–yearning for her mother's approval, until finally she couldn't take another disapproving sigh or admonishment.

And then, she's exploded.

She stopped caring what her mother thought, and though she hadn't said it, he wondered if that was part of the reason she'd fallen for Daniel. He didn't doubt that Regina loved Daniel or that Daniel loved her in return–but she'd been so eager to escape her mother that she'd run away with him. At seventeen, she'd left home with the intention of never going back. She left her father and her friends and the the life she'd always expected to have, and started over–and for a time, it seemed like she'd finally won.

She was happy. She had a husband who loved her and a beautiful baby boy–but slowly, those insecurities crept back in, and she realized that no matter how far she ran, she'd never get away from what her mother had instilled in her. It'd become a part of her, and even now, even though she'd started her life all over again for a second time, it was still there and it'd likely always be there.

He didn't want that for Henry, and he knew that Regina didn't either.

For almost all of Henry's life, Regina had been everything to him–his mother and his father, his friend and confidant–and everything she did, she did to give her son a better life.

Nuzzling his cheek against the top of Henry's head, Robin draws in a breath. "Perhaps your stomach hurts because you don't want to go back to Sherwood?"

Henry doesn't reply, but he does cuddle closer.

"Maybe you don't want to see Celeste or my father, you don't want to see your grandmother or–"

"I want to see my grandpapa," Henry says in a small voice. "I like when he gives me piggy back rides."

"And everyone else?" Again, Henry says nothing and Robin feels a knot forming in his stomach. "Are you looking forward to seeing anyone else?"

Henry swallows and clutches tighter at Robin's shirt. "I'm going to miss the hunting lodge," he says, purposely avoiding the question, just like his mother might when she doesn't know how to reply. "I'm going to miss Winston and the horses and I'm going to miss the cider mill and the woods and the pond," Henry says in a small voice. "I'm going to miss Mrs. Beakley and her cookies and Mrs. Potter, too," he blinks as he looks up at Robin. "She was teaching me and Roland to play the piano."

"I didn't know that," Robin says. "When did–"

"Before you and mama got up," Henry says. "After we helped Winston in the barn and after our breakfast, Mrs. Potter would teach us how to play songs on the piano."

"What songs did she teach you?"

"My favorite was _Mary Had A Little Lamb_ ," Henry admits with a little giggle. "I like the little lamb in the story."

"There's a story with the song?"

He nods. "It was in the book mama read to me and Roland at night." Robin's eyes narrow as he tries to remember. He'd sat with them on most nights–but he hadn't really listened to the stories Regina read to the boys. He'd been too caught up in watching Regina cuddle the boys and watching them smile and laugh. "Roland liked the one about the little star."

"The star?"

Henry nods. " _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_."

"You know, there's a piano in the drawing room at Sherwood."

"I know," Henry says. "But I don't think I should play it."

"Why not?"

"I might… break a key or–"

"Henry, I don't think–"

"I don't think anyone there would like it if I played," he cuts in, shrugging his shoulders dismissively as the knot in Robin's stomach tightens. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Who wouldn't like it?"

"Everyone," Henry says. "I'm not very good at it."

"You're learning." Henry shrugs as his head falls to Robin's shoulder. "You know," he begins, a sudden thought coming to mind–something he probably should have considered months before. "You're old enough to go to school, now. Maybe we could find you a tutor–someone who knows piano."

"School?" Henry asks. "Like, a place where I'd go to live?"

"No," Robin answers quickly. "No, I don't want to send you away to school."

"Oh… because my grandmother said–"

"I'm not sending you away," Robin interjects, his voice firm and decisive. "I think we could bring a tutor to Sherwood."

Henry bites down on his lip. "Oh…"

"We'll think about it, alright?" Robin says as his eyes shift momentarily to Regina. "Maybe one day you, me and your mama could sit down and talk about it."

"But I wouldn't go away."

"No."

Henry nods. "Alright."

Robin leans in and presses a kiss to the top of Henry's head and cuddles him a little closer. "How's your stomach?"

"Better, I think," he says as a yawn escapes him. "The peppermint is good."

"Don't fall asleep before it's gone."

"I won't," Henry giggles as he lifts his head from Robin's shoulder and sticks out his tongue. "It's almost gone. See?"

"I see," Robin laughs, pressing Henry's head back to his shoulder gently with his palm, watching as Henry reaching into his pocket and pulls out his little dragon toy. "You really like that little guy, don't you?"

Henry nods. "He protects me."

Robin's stomach tightens.. "What do you mean?"

"Dragons can breathe fire and–" He yawns again. "–and they protect things they like."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," Henry murmurs. "Some dragons protect jewels or heaps of gold, some protect castles or forests. But this one protects me."

Robin swallows and the knot in his stomach again tightens as he thinks about the conversation he and John had about Henry and Celeste, and all the times he felt uneasy watching Celeste with the boys–and quietly, he chastises himself for dismissing that feeling. "What does he protect you from?"

Henry doesn't reply–and when he looks down, the boy's eyes are closed and his lips are parted, and if he's not already asleep, he's awfully close to it. He grins gently as he bends his head again to kiss the top of Henry's head and when he does, Regina's groggy smile catches his eye–but by the time he presses the kiss to Henry's hair, Regina is asleep again with a soft grin stretched across her lips.

The ride back to Sherwood is long–long and boring.

By the time they stop for lunch, the boys are restless–and after finishing their sandwiches, Regina suggests taking them to a nearby park to let them run around and burn off some of their energy. Belle and John check out some of the shops in town–and John makes a point of replacing Robin's missing cufflink–and Belle finds a fabric store. Regina makes a passing comment about Ruby and Belle's cheeks flush. Robin sees a quick flash of excitement in her eyes and it's not lost on him that it's the first time she's shown any excitement about the prospect of returning to Sherwood.

They find a bench and settle there, watching as the boys play a game of tag. He reaches for her hand, letting his fingers curl down around hers and he can't help but smile, when a grin pulls onto her lips.

"I've been meaning to say this," she begins as she looks over at him. "But the morning was a little hectic and–"

"Hectic?" He cuts in and a chuckle bubbles up inside of him as he thinks of how they'd spent the better part of the day attempting to wrangle the boys–from changing them into clean clothes to getting them to sit still for breakfast at the inn to stopping them from hanging out the windows of the carriage. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She grins. "Well, I've been meaning to thank you for last night."

Robin blinks. "For… taking off your shoes?"

"No," she says, rolling her eyes as she shakes her head. "For taking care of Henry."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"You let me sleep and took care of him when he wasn't feeling well," she says. "He told me."

"What did he say?"

"Just that his stomach hurt and you gave him peppermint candy," she says, chuckling softly. "And I couldn't help but notice him sleeping between us when I woke up this morning."

"All of that is true," he tells her. "But none of it is a reason to thank me."

Regina's eyes widen. "You took care of my son. Of course–"

"Yes, but he's my–" His voice halts as he looks to her. "He's no trouble. I enjoy him."

Regina's eyes narrow. "You were… you were about to say that Henry is your son, too."

Robin shifts uncomfortably. He's not sure how she'd feel about that–not sure how she would feel about him claiming Henry as his own. Sure, Henry was his step-son and he loved the boy; he'd even made him a sort of co-heir to his fortune, but that could have easily been seen as a gesture of goodwill to his new wife–a way to create an alliance between their families. But that wasn't all it was–and as the months passed he stopped thinking of Henry as his wife's son and as _their_ son.

"I just meant–"

"You think of Henry as your son."

"If that… bothers you or feels disrespectful to Daniel's mem–"

"No," she cuts in. "No, it doesn't bother me and I don't think it's disrespectful to Daniel's memory." Her bottom lip catches between her teeth, and she looks a little overwhelmed–and he's not quite sure what to make of it or how to respond. "This… might sound terrible, I thought… some of the things you said about Henry and about how I'd already given you a child because I brough Henry into your life was… was all for your father's benefit."

"I meant those things."

"And while the will was an incredibly nice gesture, I thought–"

"It wasn't just a gesture," he says, cutting in as she looks to him. "The four of us are a family. And I know I've said this before, but Roland and Henry aren't going to remember their other parents. That pains me to say, but it's the truth, but what they will remember is…" He stops, letting his voice trail off, hoping that he doesn't sound insensitive.

"They will remember us."

"And the life we give them," Robin says, nodding. "When Roland is grown and thinks back on his mother, he's not going to have memories of Marian, but he will have memories of you, and–"

"Henry will have memories of you."

He takes a breath. "I'm not trying to erase him or–"

"You can't erase something that's not there," she tells him, her voice quiet as she looks down at her lap. "And sometimes I'm… I'm glad that Henry doesn't really remember." She swallows hard and looks back at him. "Everyday it seems he remembers less and less."

"Roland never remembered any of it."

She nods. "It's… like it was a dream, or something like that."

"Another life…"

She nods again. "Something like that."

He takes a breath and gives her hand a tight squeeze. "All I meant is that when you raise a child, blood hardly matters. The day I married you, Henry became my son–and not just legally–so, you don't have to thank me for helping to take care of him."

"Not many men would say that."

A grin tugs onto his lips. "I'd like to think I'm better than most… considering how few of them whose company I enjoy."

At that, Regina laughs. "You are. You most certainly are."

His grin warms and he takes a breath. "This conversation certainly took a turn."

"It was… a good turn though," she says as she looks back to him. "It's… comforting that you think of him that way, that you think of him as your son."

"I'm glad."

And before anymore can be said Roland comes rushing toward them, laughing as Henry chases him–and just before he crashes into Regina's legs, Robin grabs him and pulls him into his arms and then hooks his other arm around Henry. Regina laughs as he swings them both around–and with reluctant sigh, he realizes that it's time to go.

The second half of the carriage ride is just as long and dull as the first, and the boys are squirming in their places on the leather bench–and by the time it's dusky, they're pulling up the long gravely drive leading up to Sherwood.

Though it seems that they've been traveling for an eternity, they're earlier than they expected. It's almost a relief that none of the staff is waiting for them, and they go in quietly. John and Belle drive the carriage to the back of the house to unload their suitcases, and they send the boys up to the nursery to wash up and change.

"It appears, at least for now, we have the place to ourselves," Robin says when they reach the top of the stairs.

"Just you and me… and Roland and Henry… and about twenty maids and footmen."

"We have at least fifteen minutes before the boys come looking for us." A grin twists onto his lips. "Longer if they suddenly rediscover their toys."

Regina turns and her arms link around him–and she takes a step back as he steps forward. "And what do you think is going to happen in _fifteen minutes_? Do you think–" Her voice halts as she gasps and lets go of him, and he watches as she looks down as she looks away. "What the hell?"

Robin's brow furrows as he watches her bend to pick up a tiny little object from the floor. "Are you alright?" He asks as he reaches for her. "Is your ankle alright."

"Y-yes," she nods as she looks down at a tiny little jade cross in hand. "Wh-where did this come from?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe one of the maids dropped it or–"

"No, I've… I've seen this before," she murmurs as her jaw tightens–and though he's not sure, she looks terrified. "But it can't be _here_."

Reaching out he plucks the cross from her palm and looks at it. "I can honestly tell you I haven't seen this before. Maybe Celeste–"

"Sure," she cuts in, her voice small as he drops the little charm back into her palm. "Maybe it belongs to her."

"You don't think it does."

"I'm probably wrong."

"Regina…"

She draws in a breath and looks up at him, forcing a smile. "It doesn't seem like your father's here and–"

"No, we'd have heard him blustering about something by now."

She nods. "Right, well. If he's not here and we weren't expected until morning, I doubt anything was prepared for dinner."

A grin pulls onto his lips. "I could whip something up."

He laughs as she bites down on her lip and momentarily, the worries look in her eyes fades. "Didn't I have to explain to you how to butter a pan not too long ago."

"I'm a quick learner," he says, feigning defense.

"Sure," she says, laughing a little as she looks up at him. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"That sounds like a challenge, and you _know_ how I love a challenge."

Regina's eyes roll and he can't help but laugh. "I… think I want to go lay down for a little bit." A grin twists onto his lips and he takes a step inward, but Regina steps back. "Alone… for now."

"Alone."

She nods. "I just… actually want to sleep."

"And you can't sleep if I'm with you?"

A little grin twists onto her lips. "It's less likely."

"Oh?" She nods again and he sighs, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Alright, but let me help you settle in."

"I… think that defeats the purpose."

"I think it'd be nice to… lay with and hold you and…"

"Kiss me?"

"Well…"

"Exactly."

"Do you… not like kissing me?"

"Normally, yes," she says, laughing a little as her eyes roll. "But I really am tired." Leaning up on the tips of her toes, she pecks his lips. "And in a half an hour or so, I'll come and find you, and we'll scrounge up something for dinner."

"Fine," he sighs, a bit too dramatically–but it does succeed in making her laugh. "Can I at least walk you to your bedroom door?"

"I suppose that would be alright," she says as she takes his hand, and slowly they walk toward her bedroom. It occurs to him that they should probably have a conversation about _her_ room and _his_ room and whether or not they choose one to call _their_ room–especially given that for the past several weeks, they'd been sharing a bedroom.

But now, he tells himself, probably isn't the time.

His thoughts shift from their sleeping arrangements to dinner and he wonders if he could possibly convince the cook to help him prepare something for them–of course, the likelihood of the cook being in a sour mood was high, given his father's usual pickiness and lack of care over whose feelings he hurt, and she was probably looking forward to having an evening off where she didn't–

He blinks as Regina stops and then, he's aware of hushed voices coming from her bedroom.

He looks to her but she raises her finger to her lips and shakes her head, and quietly, she takes a few steps forward.

"…all I am saying is she doesn't deserve him?"

"But who does, according to you?"

"Everybody who's anyone," Celeste says in a haughty voice. "At least that's what Ms. Greene tells me."

Robin's eyes shift to Regina and he watches as her fist tightens around the little jade charm in her palm, and slowly, he connects the dots from the jade cross to Ms. Green–a connection she made when she'd discovered it in the hall. He blinks as the maid says something he can't quite make out, but whatever it is, it makes Celeste laugh as he considers what possible reason Zelena Greene would have for being at Sherwood, much less upstairs at Sherwood where the family's bedrooms were.

Robin blinks as he looks to Regina, watching as her jaw tightens and her eyes momentarily sink closed–whatever the maid said, whatever it was that maid said to make Celeste laugh, Regina had certainly heard. Reaching out, he presses his hand to her arm, in a way he hopes is comforting, and she looks up at him, forcing a tight smile that makes his chest ache.

"…at least _you_ don't have to wait on her."

"I don't know how you do it," Celeste returns. "I couldn't lower myself to turn down the bed of a woman who'd… lowered herself the way that–"

As soon as Celeste had started to reply, Robin had started to move toward the door–and when she's nearly finished, he's standing at the threshold. Celeste's voice fades and her eyes widen at the sight of Robin–and then, he sees something strange flicker behind them.

He can't quite tell what it is–but he doesn't care enough to let his thoughts linger on it.

"There is _no way_ that the two of you were discussing my wife."

"Robin," Regina whispers as she steps up behind him. "It's… it's fine."

"No," he says, his voice firm as he stares at Celeste. "It's anything but fine."

"W-we weren't… it wasn't about…" The red-faced maid stammers as she tires to look at Robin. "I didn't mean…"

"For us to hear you?" Robin asks, his voice rising as he looks to the maid. "No, it's obvious that this was meant to be a private conversation." He scoffs as he looks back to Celeste. His jaw clenches as his fists tighten and more than anything he wants to dismiss her on the spot–but he knows that he can't do that, and worse, he knows that _she_ knows it. "Your employment here is _a choice_. And, if you'd prefer to find work elsewhere, I won't stop you–but if you think for a moment, you can stay here and speak about my wife as if _you_ are somehow _better_ than her, you are sorely mistaken."

"L-like I said, Mr. Locksley," the maid says, looking at him with wide teary eyes. "We weren't speaking of Mrs. Locksley. We'd never."

"You should go."

"W-where?"

"To your rooms," Robin scoffs, his eyes focusing on Celeste. "Once I've spoken with my father, I'll let you know what's been decided." The maid nods as tears slide down her cheeks, but Celeste's eyes remain hard and stoic. "Celeste, I'm sure that's an available room in the servants' hall."

"The servants hall?" She asks, her voice full of indignation. "But I don't–"

"You're not returning to the nursery."

"But _your father_ hired me to care for–"

"My son," Robin nods. "I'm well aware." He swallows hard as he thinks back to the conversation he had with John about Celeste and her feelings toward Henry. "But, you see, the position has changed, and I no longer think you're suited." He pauses and his eyes narrow. "You've just proved that."

"Robin–"

"Don't," he cuts in. "You don't get to address me in such an informal way."

For some reason, it's that that seems to have an effect on her and her eyes drop away from his. "I apologize."

He nods as the maid scurries past him and Celeste lifts her chin, attempting and failing at an air of indifference. "It's not me you should be apologizing to," he says as she passes–and when the door is pulled closed behind him, he feels himself soften as he turns to Regina.

She's standing beside him, her fist still clenched around the little charm in her palm. Her skin is paler and her eyes look distant, and when he reaches for, she flinches.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm sorry that–"

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it. Not here, not in your own home."

She nods. "But that's just it. This isn't my home. It's not even yours. It's your father's home, just as Dragon Head always my mother's home, not mine."

"Regina, that's–"

"Like I said," she cuts in. "I've gotten used to it."

"It's not fair," he says. "It's not fair that–"

"I made the choice that I made. I can't stop people from having opinions about those choices." She sighs. "It doesn't matter that–"

"It _does_ matter," he says, his voice rising over his as he reaches for her again–and this time, she doesn't pull away. "You know that I can't… that I don't have much power in this household… that I can't just… let them go."

Regina nods. "I know."

"I meant what I said, though," Robin tells her. "I am going to talk to my father and see if–"

"I hardly think he'll care," Regina tells him, sighing as he looks up at him. "He thinks the same as they do… at least where I'm concerned."

Robin's jaw tightens. "Yes, but he has an odd sense of… place."

"Place?"

"He think people should stay in their places. Position matters to him."

Her brow arches and a she tilts her head skeptically. "Even mine?"

"Even yours," he says, hoping with everything in him that he's right, and that come morning, he won't have to disappoint her. Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her forehead. "You should lay down."

"I… don't think I'm in the mood for a nap anymore."

"Sure you are," he insists, grinning. "And I'd offer to stay with you, but I should probably go scrounge something up for dinner."

At that, she laughs–and he feels a smile tug onto his lips. "Maybe there's a stew or something that's already prepared."

"Maybe, but maybe not."

"You can't feed the boys tea and biscuits. They need a real–"

"I wouldn't dream of it, m'lady," he murmurs, leaning in and pressing another kiss to her forehead. "Now, get some rest and I'll come and wake you when it's time to eat."

Her brow arches and she laughs, but she then she nods–and though it's the last thing that he wants to do, he takes a step back and then another, leaving her in the room and hoping that she'll actually get some rest.

Regina's eyes flutter open–and she's surprised that she was actually able to fall asleep.

Pulling herself up on the bed, she looks around the room and sighs–there was a part of her that wished when she woke up, she'd find herself at the hunting lodge again and that Robin would be at her side. But that wasn't possible, and she knew it–though, it hadn't stopped her from hoping.

Stretching out her arms, she yawns a little and rolls her shoulders as her eyes shift to the little clock on the mantle–and then, they fall to a balled up sheet on an armchair by the fireplace. Swallowing hard, her eyes momentairly closes as she thinks of the maid and Celeste, and the conversation she and Robin had walked in on. He'd been so angry, and it was likely the first time he heard the staff at Sherwood talking about her in such a way–at least the first time since the woman who was supposed to have been her maid quit on a few days after they'd been married–but it was something she heard all of the time and it was something that she was used to.

Whenever she walked into the room, it was impossible not to notice the way they all looked at her and it was impossible not to notice the way their voices would drop as they noticed her. But that's how most people had treated her since she was the pregnant seventeen year old who'd run off with the stable boy, and she'd long stopped being surprised by it.

But that didn't mean it didn't still hurt and embarrass her every time that it happened.

Her stomach tighten at the memory of the mentioning of , and she can't help but wonder what Zelena has said about her–or why she'd been in the upstairs hall near the bedrooms at Sherwood, and whatever the reason, it doesn't sit well.

Reaching out, she picks up the little jade cross with a curly Z behind it and she can easily see it on the charm bracelet Zelena loved to wear–and again, she can't help but wonder and she can't help but let her mind wander through a hundred terrible scenarios.

She pushes away the thoughts as she gets out of bed and walks down the hall toward the nursery–and a smile tugs onto her lips as she finds the boys, asleep on the floor in a pile of blocks that she suspects had, at some point earlier in the evening, been a castle that Henry's dragon was either protecting or attacking.

They're already in their nightshirts and there are two empty bowls of what she suspects was some kind of soup on their little table–and a grin pulls onto her lips at the thought of them, sitting together and sipping their soup as they planned their dragon's attack. She scoops up Roland first and tucks him into bed, then does the same with Henry, kissing them each as she blows out the lamps around their room, leaving just one at the mantle.

She finds that Robin's bed is still made up, and when she doesn't find him in the sitting room or the drawing room or in the library, a grin pulls onto her lips as she heads down to the kitchen, wondering if it's actually possible that he's attempting to make them some sort of meal.

When she reaches the bottom stair, she hears a woman's voice–and her stomach drops when she realizes the voice belongs to Celeste.

She's wearing a coat and Robin's face is red–and though she can't quite hear what's being said, she from the kitchen window, she can see Celeste's hand press to his chest. Robin bats it away as he steps back and she hears muffled yells as he points to the door–and a moment later, Celeste is gone.

Swallowing hard, Regina feels her heart pounding–and it occurs to her that she should go back upstairs, but as soon as the thought occurs to her, it fades away as she step forward and pushes the heavy kitchen door open.

Robin turns sharply to face her, his eyes wide–and he looks so uncomfortable.

"Wh-what just happened?"

He shakes his head. "Truthfully? I… I don't really know."

"Oh…"

"She tried to kiss me," he tells her, his voice abrupt and his eyes wide as if he's more startled by the confession than she should be.

"What?"

"Celeste."

"Why?" She asks, her mouth suddenly dry. "Why would she–"

"I don't know," Robin cuts in. "But I wanted to tell you. I didn't want you to–"

"Find out from someone else?" He nods–and it's almost endearing the way he's looking at her, like he's absolutely terrified of how she'll respond. "She's… really something else, isn't she?"

"Regina, I didn't–" He stops. "I don't want to screw this up."

"I believe you," she's quick to say. "I saw you push her away and, even if I hadn't, I'd believe you."

He blinks. "You would? You… do?"

"Of course I do," she says easily. "I trust you and… I know that you love me and… I also know that if you wanted to be with Celeste, you'd have been with her long before me."

She laughs as he swallows hard, scrunching his face as he sniffs. "That's… quite a repulsive thought, actually," he murmurs. "Celeste and I… she's, like… the Ice Queen and I always thought she had several very… nun-like qualities."

Regina laughs. "And I hardly doubt you'd have married me if you didn't actually want to." She shrugs. "I'm not exactly… a prized debutant anymore."

"Regina, that's–" 

"What are you doing down here, anyway?"

At that, he grins–and his entire demeanor changes. A shy laugh escapes him and he rubs at the back of his neck. "I… was going to make this," he says as he picks up a little note card. "But it went… horribly awry." Regina's eyes widen and she stifles the urge to laugh as she looks down at simple recipe for spinach and eggs with a hollandaise sauce. "But I mistakenly used the pickled eggs and–"

"Oh no…"

"Yes," he sighs as he reaches behind himself to show her a pan. "And the sauce curdled a bit."

"A bit?" She asks, laughing out in spite of attempts to keep a straight face. "Robin, that looks like… dough."

"I never stood a chance, did I?"

"No," she laughs. "You are a lot of things, Robin Locksley, but a cook isn't one of them."

He brightens a little. "There's some soup leftover from the downstairs dinner. I gave some to the boys, but–" He stops and steps past her, reaching into the cabinet. "I know you said the boys shouldn't have biscuits and tea, but you never said anything about _us_."

She laughs and nods, and her lip catches between her teeth–and her eyes shift to the curdled sauce. "I… don't believe you."

"Alright, I know it's bad but–"

"It's sweet."

"That I nearly poisoned us all?"

"That you _tried…_ to surprise me." She grins. "I love that you tried to surprise me with dinner."

"And failed."

She nods. "Amazingly so."

At that, Robin's eyes roll and again, she laughs–and this time, she reaches for his hand. She takes him over to the fire and fills a kettle, boiling some water and directing him to the cabinet for two tea cups. She shows him how to steep the tea and then, a grin tugs onto her lips as she reaches for a bottle of rum. His brow arches as she pours a generous amount into the kettle and then takes his hand, lifting the kettle and placing it on a tray beside the biscuits.

Robin takes the tray as she leads him out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. "Instead of eating in the dining room," she begins, grinning back at him. "Maybe we could take this upstairs… to your room?"

"I… could be be alright with that," Robin says as a smile pulls onto his lips. "After all, we wouldn't want anyone catching us having tea and cookies for dinner."

Regina laughs and her heart beats a little faster. "Yes, that's exactly what I wouldn't want anyone to catch us doing together." She looks back over her shoulder and watches as a silly little grin forms on his lips–and she can't help but laugh. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Oh," he murmurs, clearly not expecting that to be what she wanted to talk about. "I suppose I should talk to my father… especially considering that I just fired the nanny and have no authority to do so."

"So, you fired her," Regina says as they reach the top of the stairs. "Because of…"

"Mostly what she said to you," he says, clearing his throat as their eyes meet. "And because I've never been comfortable with the way she treats Henry–"

"She's not exactly the nurturing type."

"No…"

"And because she tried to kiss you?"

He hesitates for a moment, and nods. "That was the final nail in her coffin."

"How did you manage it?" She asks as they start up another flight of stairs. "Everyone in this household knows your father does the firing."

Robin nods. "Yes, well… I might've bent the truth a little and… threatened her reputation."

"As a nanny?"

Robin swallows as they reach the top of the stairs and she looks back at him. "Not… just her reputation as a nanny." It takes her a moment to understand, and then she nods. "I pointed out that it'd be my word against hers, and regardless of the truth, no one would believe her side of things."

She nods–and as her own secret creeps into her conscious, she pushes it back. "The truth hardly matters once those kinds of rumors get started," she says. "And no one would ever take _her_ word over a man's."

"I… don't feel good about saying that to her, but–"

"It's not like you'll actually tell that story."

"No, it was just to… scare her into not pleading her case to my father." He shakes his head. "As much as I hate her, I don't think I could ever ruin her with a rumor like that."

They reach his room and she takes the tray from him, setting it down on a little table between who arm chairs by the fireplace. There's not a fire at the hearth and the window is open slightly, letting in a cool summer breeze as they talk about going into town the next day so that Robin can check in with the tenant farmers and so she can have a few of her older skirts mended–and a smile twists onto her lips as she confesses her errands are mostly a guise to allow Belle and Ruby the chance to see each other again without it seeming suspect.

Their conversation fades–and she feels the rum beginning to kick in as she pours them both a third cup of tea.

"You know," she begins as she looks up at him. "I've been thinking."

"Oh yeah? What are you thinking about?"

She takes a breath and then another sip of tea. "The day that I twisted my ankle, you and I… had a very long conversation."

He nods. "I remember it well."

"So, you remember me telling you that I didn't want more children."

"And I remember that we agreed to revisit that conversation in year."

Drawing in a breath, she sets her tea cup down. "And do you remember when you suggested that there were… things we could do together that couldn't lead to a pregnancy?"

"Wishful thinking on my part," he says, chuckling softly. "I also remember you turning me down."

"Well… about that…" She smiles as his whole face brightens. "I've been thinking…"

"Oh?" He breathes out as she slides off the chair and kneels in front of him. "Have you?"

"I have," she tells him, nodding as she rubs her hands over his knees. "And you're right." She smile as he draws in a breath as her fingers slide up his thighs, rubbing against the coarse fabric of his pants. "There are some things we could do."

"Regina, as… as much as I don't want to say this… I… just… does this have something to do with Celeste?"

At that, she laughs. "No," she says easily. "This doesn't have anything to do with her, and it has everything to do with me and you and…" She grins and shrugs her shoulders as her fingers press into the tops of his thighs. "I miss you."

"I haven't gone anywhere."

A grin twists onto her lips. "I miss being with you."

She takes a breath and licks her lips, looking up at him as her hand slips into his pants. He's warm and she smiles as she pulls out his cock–and he lets out a shaky breath that's somehow encouraging.

She lets her hand slide up and down his length a couple of times–and then, she leans in. She swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock, then flattens it out and drags it down the length of him. She does it a few times, moving slowly as his cock twitches up a bit, and her hands slide up to the top of his hips.

Lifting his his a little, the tip of his cock pushes into her mouth and she tugs down his pants–and as she draws her head back, her eyes open and she looks up at him as he lowers himself back down in the chair. She pulls back and grins as she pulls his pants off, pressing her hands down on his thighs as she lifts herself. Moving her fingers quickly, she unbuttons his shirt and kisses her way down his chest as she pushes it off her shoulders–slowly but surely sinking back down onto her knees.

Robin lets out a gruff moan as her tongue slides down the length of his cock, and the tip of her tongue flicks at his balls. She licks them as her hand forms around his shaft, pumping slowly up and down the length of him as he hardens.

Momentarily, she pulls away, looking up at him as he smiles–a warm and soft smile that makes her heart flutter.

"That feels incredible," he murmurs, reaching out and stroking her hair. " _You_ feel incredible."

She nods and smiles back, pulling herself up to peck his lips–and then again, she sinks back down, peppering kisses down his chest and stomach until she his cock is in front of her. She looks up at him, catching his gaze as she takes him into her mouth. Her hand forms around the base of his cock gently gently squeezing and twisting as her lips slides over him, taking him fully into her mouth before pulling back until the tip is at her lips. She sinks back down, again and again, and his breath grows huskier–and she can feel him tightening. Her hand moves to his balls, kneading gently as his cock twitches again.

A low moan escapes him as she pulls back, and she looks up at him as he starts to come–and then, smiling up at him, she taking him back into her mouth, sucking harder as he continues to come.

Pulling back, she looks up at him, and sits back on her legs, watching as his he releases a long breath and smiles. He looks a bit dazed and it makes her giggle–and then, he reaches for her. His hand finds hers and he pulls her up as he stands, and she lets out a content sigh his lips find her neck.

He sucks gently as her skin as his hands find her hips–and he circles around her.

"I love this dress," he tells her–and her brow furrows as she looks back at him over her shoulder, and he laughs. "It doesn't have a million of those tiny little buttons that dress you wore the last time we… were together like this had."

"Oh…"

"Can I…" She nods and smiles as his fingers ghost down the back of her dress and then, she feels it loosen. "I love you," he breathes out as his lips slide to the back of her neck.

"I…" Her breath catches in her chest as her head falls back and she lets the dress fall off of her, pooling at her feet. "We can't go any further, you know."

"I know," he says as his fingers unlace her corset. "But I could… return the favor."

She grins and finally, as he pulls her corset away from her, she feels her lungs fully inflate. "You could," she says as she turns, linking her arms around his neck. "But not tonight."

"No?"

"No," she murmurs as her eyes fall to his lips. "I'm… tired and I just…" Her tongue traces over his bottom lip. "I just want to go to bed."

Robin's lips capture hers and she he smiles against her mouth–and she feels him nod. "Alright," he says quietly as he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. "But will you stay?"

"Stay?"

"In my room."

She nods as as her slips the straps of her muslin chemise from her shoulders, and she grins as he watches the chemise and pantalettes fall away from her, leaving her naked. "I'll stay," she tells him, as a grin forms on her lips. "It'd… probably be in poor taste for me to go back to my own room… like this and… it seems silly to have separate rooms after…"

"Sharing one for so long while we were away?"

She nods. "I like sharing a room with you… and a bed."

He laughs and nods. "A bed where we will be sleeping," he says, as he takes her hand, giving it a soft tug as he steps back–and she laughs a little as she follows him to bed.


	18. Chapter 18

A smile pulls onto Robin's lips as his eyes flutter open.

Regina is still there with him–still asleep with her cheek pressed to his chest, and the thin sheet that covers them is low on her back.

When they returned to Sherwood, he feared that she'd recoil–that she'd pull back from him, that they'd regress. She'd been so much more comfortable at the lodge, and he hated to leave and hated that he had to bring her back into a world that looked down on her and judged her so unfairly.

In the back of his mind, he knew there was a solution, but it was a complicated one and he wasn't sure if it could be worked out–or rather, if he'd be allowed to work it out.

The terms of his inheritance were set at his father's whim, and already he'd been walking a fine line. Sure, when his father died, he'd inherit it all–that was the law–but while his father lived, he there were certain expectations he was expected to meet. He tended to the tenants needs, ensured the payments were made and the crops were producing. In lot of ways, he was a glorified estate manager–and his father never missed an opportunity to remind him of it. It'd be just under five more years before his trust fund kicked in–until he had money that was more than just an allowance, money that didn't have strings attached to it–and until then, his entire lifestyle was at his father's mercy.

They'd never quite seen eye-to-eye, but with every year that passed, their issues seemed to worsen–and time seemed to slow, making his thirtieth birthday seem as if it were drifting farther away rather than coming nearer. And his marriage to Regina had brought about a new set of problems–

He stopped.

No. That wasn't true and problem was the wrong word.

His relationship with this father had been strained for a long time. It had nothing to do with his marriage–and even in his own private thoughts, he wouldn't confuse the two. _She_ wasn't the problem nor had she caused the problems–her presence in his life only made him more aware of them, more sensitive to them…

When he'd told his father that he wanted to marry her, he'd laughed thinking it was a joke. He didn't understand Robin's desire to save her–or at least that's what he'd called it–and he thought it'd be perfectly justifiable to allow the Mills' fall into squalor and despair. After all, he'd argued, they'd made their choices and would have to live with the consequences–it was no one's job to fix it, much less make it better.

At that point, though, Robin had an ace up his sleeve–and he played it and it taken them this far. It occurred to him then and it occurred to him now that he should tell Regina that her father's poor investments hadn't been careless choices or risks that hadn't paid off the way he'd hoped and expected. He'd been led to make them through false claims and ill advising–and the source of those claims and advising had been none other than Richard Locksley. It'd been a scheme he'd cooked up with his lawyer and the estate's agent–and it was something he was never supposed to know about, and wouldn't have had it not been for a careless delivery boy sent to hand _Mr. Locksley_ a letter explaining it all. What the boy hadn't thought to ask was _which_ Mr. Locksley.

With the letter in-hand, he'd been in a position to make demands because while what his father had done wasn't illegal, it was unethical and it would sully his reputation–and there was nothing more dear to Richard than his reputation and the way people viewed him.

So, in the end, he was allowed to marry Regina Mills and present her parents with a lifeline. They were given a handsome allowance–and even though their money and properties were no longer theirs, no one had to know about it. Marrying Regina eliminated her families humiliation, it made what his father had done to them much less of a blow, and it kept things neat and tidy–and while he couldn't change what his father had done, he could make it more bearable.

What he hadn't quite anticipated was to fall in love.

He'd always been attracted to Regina–he'd always admired her independence and resiliency–and he knew that he'd love her. They'd be friends, he'd thought–friends and confidants, partners and parents and maybe even one day, they'd be lovers–that was the plan.

However, he quickly realized that wasn't all they were meant to be.

He fell hard and fast, and it took him by surprise–and it was the best of surprises. And, finally, it seemed that she was catching up to him…

Taking a breath, he smiles down at her–and cautiously, he reaches out, stroking his hand over her bare back as she sleeps. His stomach churns at the thought of leaving this moment–of waking up and going downstairs and having the conversation with his father he'd inevitably have to have.

The night before, he'd overstepped his right when he fired Celeste.

His father had made it clear, time and time again, that he made the decisions at Sherwood. He did the hiring and above all, the staff was loyal to him. There were a few exceptions in John and Belle, but their employment was ultimately at his father's whim.

He was hopeful though that his father would understand–after all, Celeste had tried to kiss him, and servants rising above their station was an unforgivable sin according to his father.

"Mm…" He looks down and grins as Regina stirs, lifting her head and smiling groggily. "What time is it?'

"I'm not sure," he answers, still stroking his hand over her back. "Early, though."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not long."

"Mm," she breathes out, lifting her head and looking around the room. "I should… go to my own room."

"I'd rather you didn't."

A grin twists onto her lips. "And shock John when he comes in?"

"Finding my wife in my bed wouldn't be very shocking."

"Finding your _naked_ wife would be," she says, her brow arching as she looks at him. "I didn't think to bring a nightgown when I came to…" Her voice trails off and he smiles, remember exactly why she came to his room the night before. "Besides, if I stay here, I won't get up."

"No?"

"No," she murmurs, pulling herself up. "I wouldn't be able to resist spending the morning in bed with you."

"Like we did at the lodge."

"Mm," she nods. "And I need to get the boys up and dressed and fed."

"Oh, right…"

"Because someone had to go and fire the nanny." A grin twists onto her lip and she sits up, the thin sheet falls to her hips as she rolls her shoulders–and for a moment, he can't help but let his eyes linger. "Do you, um… have a robe or–"

"Oh, of course," he murmurs, getting out of bed and walking over to his wardrobe. He selects a silky green one–one of his favorites–and hands it to her, smiling as she pulls it on and lets the too-large garment swallow her. "About what we talked about last night…" She blinks as she knots the robe around her waist. "About us sharing a room…"

"Oh, right…" She nods. "To avoid awkward little moments like this one in which I have to walk practically naked down the hall."

"Something like that," he murmurs as a little grin edges onto his lips. "If it's okay with you, I think I should move into your room." He shrugs. "It's got a nicer view and the bed is closer to the fireplace. That'll be nice come fall and winter."

"Alright," she nods. "And the boys know they can find me there."

Robin nods. "So, I'll have John start to move my things."

She nods and takes a few steps toward him, then leans up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. She doesn't say anything, but she smiles–and then a moment later, she's gone.

He calls for John and informs him of the change, telling him that he can move his things slowly–and for that night, he'll only need a nightshirt and something to change into in the morning. John nodded and agreed, and then chose the day's clothes.

"Can I ask you something," Robin asks slowly as John fastens his cufflinks, nodding as he looks at him through the mirror. "Is anyone downstairs talking about Celeste."

"They don't talk to me much," John says. "They don't talk to Belle much, either."

"Have you overheard anything?"

"Only that she's gone." He pauses. "I'm nour father knows though."

Robin's eyes sink closed. "I'm sure he doesn't."

"I haven't gotten a read on him yet. I couldn't tell if he was just in his normal bad mood or if it was something else, but I will say, that I, for one, am glad to see her go." He pauses as he takes Robin's other arm. "She was a dreadful woman and had no place in that nursery. The boys will be better off without her."

"I'm sure they will be."

"Have you thought about who's going to take on her duties until a replacement can be found?"

"Regina," he answers. "She wants to."

"Ah…" John murmurs. "And I'm sure the will be plenty of help around here already, should the need arise."

"I'm hoping she and I can talk about it a bit more over luncheon." He pauses. "I want to go into town today. It's been awhile since I checked in on the tenants and–" He sighs. "I'm hoping she'll accompany me."

"I don't see why she wouldn't."

He nods as John brushes off his shoulders. "I have a sneaking suspicion her mother will be 'round soon."

A grin pulls onto John's lips and he nods. "Then you'll have to leave before she gets here."

Robin only sighs, shaking his head as he smooths his hands over his pants and then turns toward the door, thoughts of his not-so-charming mother-in-law swimming through his head–and the only comfort is that he and Regina weren't set to return until late that morning, which meant Cora Mills could likely be put off for another day…

When he reaches the dining room, his father is there, already eating–and looking sullen as ever.

He pulls out a chair and a footman pour him some coffee, welcoming him back to Sherwood as his father barks a request for more toast.

"You arrived earlier than planned," Richard says, barely looking up from his plate. "Did you get in late?"

"No," Robin says, nodding as the footman offers him an egg and sausage. "Not particularly. You'd gone out, so we scrounge up some dinner and–"

"The Blanchards hosted us for dinner."

"Us?" Robin asks curiously–since his mother, his father has never been a part of a pair. "Who is _us_?"

"Oh, Ms. Greene and I. We–"

"You had dinner with Zelena Greene?"

Richard nods. "At the Blanchards."

"You mentioned," he murmurs, drawing in a breath. "We got an early start yesterday morning and–"

"I thought you'd gotten in late," Richard says, looking up pointedly at his son. "And perhaps that was part of the reason the maids watch your wife sneaking out of your bedroom this morning in quite a state of undress." He blinks. "I just assumed she was so tired from travel, she couldn't possibly make her way to her own bed or find the energy to put on some clothes."

Robin feels his jaw tighten and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck. "No, we… had some things to discuss. It got late and I saw no reason to turn her out," he says, figuring it's close enough to the truth. "And even if that weren't the case, there's nothing wrong with her spending the night with me."

"Something to discuss," Richard saws in a low, disinterested voice. "That's one way to describe it." Robin's eyes roll as he cuts into the egg–and he tries to come up with a delicate way to inform his father that he's fired the nanny. "I won't encourage this," Richard says. "Just because you chose to marry her, doesn't mean the two of you can be up to such indecent things."

Robin blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"A _lady_ wouldn't be seen tip-toeing out of a man's bedroom wearing–"

"She's my wife," Robin cuts in. "There's nothing _indecent_ about her being in my bedroom, and, just for the record–"

"I won't allow you to make a fool of yourself, Robin," Richard snaps. "You need to distance yourself from that woman."

Every inch of him seems to tense and he feels anger bubbling up inside of him, and it's a struggle to keep his voice even, knowing he's already treading on thin ice. "You know, if you want that grandchild you've been pestering us about, she and I are going to have to spend some time in each other's company."

"Mm," Richard nods, looking back to his breakfast. "I'm not so sure that's the best of ideas. Perhaps it's a blessing she hasn't fallen pregnant yet." He blinks as he reaches for his coffee. "I'm not sure she's the _type_ we want providing our offspring."

"You… make that sound so…" His voice trails off and his jaw tightens. "So, what's changed your mind?"

"I've heard a rumor."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and it seems that running off with the stable boy and having a baby out of wedlock wasn't the worst of her story, nor was it a one-time offense," Richard says. "She's lying to us all, you know." Robin draws in a breath and feels a little dizzy–he wasn't quite expecting that and he's entirely sure how to respond to something that sounds so ludicrous. "It seems the stable boy wasn't the only one she was…" His voice trails off and he shrugs, reaching for his toast and examining it, and then he looks back to Robin. "…doing _indecent_ and _unladylike_ things with."

"Are you suggesting that…" Robin stops and takes a breath. "What _are_ you saying?"

"I'm saying that your wife seems to have more difficulty than we initially thought keeping her knees closed." He feels his resolve to stay patient fading as he looks to his father with hard eyes. "Those traits needn't be passed on and if there were a child, would we ever be certain that the child was yours?"

It takes everything in him to stay calm–or at least, give the appearance of it. "I don't see how this is _any_ of your business–or mine, for that matter. And if there were a child, I'm entirely sure that–"

Richard's eyes narrow. "Did you know that she was engaged to–"

"It wasn't official," Robin interrupts, his voice low and his resolve diminishing. "But yes, I did know that."

"And do you know _why_ the engagement ended?"

Robin's jaw tightens–and suddenly, he thinks of the morning Regina read Cora's letter and the cryptic conversation about it. He knew she was hiding something and he knew that she thought his feelings for her would change if he knew about–and though he'd tried to convince her that that wasn't the case, he knew he couldn't convince her. "Again, that's not your business."

"You wife is likely lying to you about the father of her bas–"

"Stop!" Robin interjects, his voice rising over his father's. "Don't you _dare_ call him that." He shoves away from the table, tossing the napkin down onto the china–and he watches as the footman's eyes shift to the doorway and a knot forms in his stomach. "I won't listen to you say another word against her."

Richard's eyes narrow. "It doesn't bother you that the woman you married isn't even sure who the–"

"No."

His eyes widen and his face reddens. "You're telling me that it doesn't bother you that the woman you married has slept with–"

"No," he cuts in again, his voice louder and his tone cooler. "My love for her isn't conditional–and it's certainly not conditional upon an arbitrary number of men she's been with–especially not a number that my father's decided upon ." He shakes his head. "Love doesn't work that way. You don't just…" He stops and for a moment, he just stares at his father, his eyes full of anger and indignation. "I wish you'd give her a chance. I wish you could see past whatever prejudices you hold against her. She's warm and she's funny, she's a wonderful mother and she's…"

His voice trails off as his father's eyes roll and he sighs, blinking boredly in Robin's direction. He isn't listening–he doesn't want to listen.

"Since we're in the topic of what's _indecent_ and _unladylike_ ," he says, clearing his throat as his jaw tightens. "Celeste, the nanny, tried to kiss me last night, so I fired her. Since you're such a champion of chasteness, I don't think you'll mind my overstepping my bounds."

He turns out of the dining room, looking left and right in search of her–but the room is empty. He jogs up the stairs and finally, he hears her in the nursery–and a soft little smile pulls onto his lips when he peeks in, just in time to watch her hook her arm around Henry and pull him into her lap as he giggles.

Roland stands in front of them, his brow creased. "I've got two left shoes," he tells her, holding up two different shoes for her to see. "Can I wear two left shoes?"

"I'm afraid not," she says, reaching out and taking one of the shoes. "Why don't you check the wardrobe and see if you can find that one's twin, and I'll look in your trunk."

Roland blinks and looks down at the remaining shoe, then looks back to her with a serious face. "But what if we find _neither shoes_ twin?"

"Then we'll… have you spend the day in your socks and you can slip and slide across the floors," she tells him simply, offering him a wink as she nudges Henry. "Go on and help him."

Henry slides off her lap and she laughs softly to herself as Roland pulls the wardrobe open–and when she turns, her eyes meet his.

"I was just… checking in," he tells her. "I wanted to see how the first nanny-less morning was going."

"Well, it's not exactly my first nanny-less morning," she says, her eyes shifting to the boys. "But I think we're getting along just fine."

He nods and takes a step toward her, but she moves away before he can reach her–and she looks up at him and shakes her head, her eyes glossy with tears–and his heart sinks at the realization that she heard at least a part of the conversation

The ride into town was quiet.

But, of course, that likely had more to do with the fact that he was sitting up front, driving the carriage alone while was Regina sat in the back with Belle and the boys. He'd wanted her to sit up from and he'd wanted to talk to her, but she was keeping him at an arm's length–and though he understood it, he wanted to clear the air before her imagination and insecurities got the best of her.

Finally, he pulls up in front of seamstress' shop, and he turns, watching as Regina draws on a breath and puts on a smile–likely putting up a front. He jumps down and opens the door, offering her his hand. Her smile tightens, but she places her fingers in his palm and lets him help her down, and then Belle shifts Roland into her arms and she reaches for Henry's hand.

He can't help but smile when Roland rests his head on her shoulder, nuzzling closer to her–and he suspects, that their day in town will be cut short due to the need for a nap. Regina turns her head and kisses his forehead, and he smiles gently as his brown eyes flutter–and for what seems like the thousandth time that day, he finds himself wishing that it could just be the four of them, in their happy little bubble.

"Is this going to take a long time?" Henry asks, looking up at her. "You said we'd go to the park."

"We will," Regina tells him. "After this and after lunch."

"Maybe we could have lunch at the park," Robin suggests as he ties the horse to the post, and then a grin curls onto his lips as he scoops up Henry. "Maybe we can even have ice cream in the park."

"Ice cream?" Roland asks, lifting his head from Regina's shoulder. "We can have ice cream for lunch?"

A little smile tugs at Regina's lips. "Maybe we can have ice cream _after_ lunch."

Henry sighs and looks to Robin. "I think that means no."

"I think that means _maybe_ ," he whispers. "And I think maybe means _yes_." Henry giggles and Regina's eyes roll. "Speaking of lunch, I'd like to return to Henry's first question," he says, looking to Regina. "Will we be long? I'm just wondering I should take the boys to–"

"No," Regina cuts in. "I don't need to be measured or anything. I just need to… explain what needs mending."

His brow furrows a bit. "If they only need mending, why couldn't–" Her eyes widen as she nods to Belle, and then a laugh escapes him. "Oh. I see."

"Yes," she murmurs in a low voice. "It's… just an excuse." He nods and pulls the door open, and she steps inside the shop, smiling warmly at Mrs. Lucas behind the counter. "Is Ruby in?" She asks as Belle steps up beside her with a canvas bag of skirts hanging on her arm. "I've got a few skirts that needs some attention–loose hems and that sort of thing," she tells her. "It shouldn't take long."

Robin glances up and watches as Ruby cranes her neck from a sewing machine in the back–and a smile pulls onto her lips as she catches a glimpse of Belle.

Granny Lucas reaches for one of the skirts and examines the hem and then nods. "I'll send you on back," she tells her. "We've got to finish up a couple of things, but these will be quick and we should have them done by mid-afternoon."

"You can have until late afternoon," Regina says. "I don't want you to rush. I know this is a… last minute thing."

"Very well," Granny says, stuffing the skirt back into the bag. "Go on now," she says–and Robin watches as Regina's follow her maid, watching as her steps quick and the gently buzz of the sewing machine stops and then, the bag falls to the floor. Ruby's arms fold around Belle and she spins her around–and there's something so innocently sweet about the way they smile at each other. Belle's cheeks flush and Ruby kisses her–quickly and chastely–before both girls giggle. "You know, Mr. Locksley," Granny says in a low, hushed voice as she nudges his arm, and waits for him to look at her. "No matter what anyone says, you've got a good one there. Remember that."

"I will," Robin promises as his eyes slide to Regina, watching as she watches Ruby take Belle by the hand as she leads her deeper into the back room, the bag of skirts forgotten. "And I am well aware of how fortunate I am that she agreed to marry me."

"What's that?" Regina asks, looking to him.

"Nothing," Robin says with a shrug. "Shall we, then?"

Henry looks between them. "But you said–"

"We'll settle the bill when we pick of the skirts," he cuts him, his eyes widening as he looks to Henry and gives him a quick wink. "That's absolutely right."

He reaches for her hand and guides her out, sighing when she pulls it away when they step outside–and Granny's words swim around in his head, reminding him of rumor his father repeated to him that morning.

They go into the pub and order sandwiches and pickles to go–and as they wait for them to be made up, they order the boys orange-raspberry shrubs and for themselves, in spite of the heat, they choose small cups of cafe au lait. They sit by the window and the boys watch and giggle together as people pass back and forth as they sip their drinks through straws–and Roland energy seemed to be renewed, likely due to the sugar in his drink.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask–"

"Not here," she cuts in, shaking her head. "Please not here."

"Alright," she says, nodding as he reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. "But soon. I just… I know that you heard some of what was said at breakfast this morning, and I just… I want to clear the air." She nod and takes a long sip of from her cup. "Regina, I–"

"Not here," she says again. "Please. I don't want anyone to…" She sighs and her eyes press closed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says, squeezing her hand. "Please, don't apologize."

Before anymore can be said, the bartender calls out their order, and Robin goes to pick it up and pay, and Regina gathers the boys. She meets him in front of the tavern, and they walk toward the park at the end of the road, settling on a bench facing a fountain while the boys sit on the grass. Robin divvies up the food–two roast stubble goose sandwiches on rye for them, and the boys split a honeyed ham sandwich and the pickles.

"Did you choose this because of the baked apple on it?" She asks as she peels back the wax paper covering the sandwich. "Because you _know_ how I feel about apples."

"I do know how you feel about apples," he says, grinning as he drops the paper sack down at their feet. "And I figured you needed a reason to smile today."

She nods and looks to the sandwich, and he watches as her finger traces over the thick crust. "Well," she says, taking a breath and the looking back to him. "I assume you've been trying to ask my if it's true."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I wasn't."

Her brow arches and she seems genuinely surprised. "Oh, I'd have thought–"

"I just wanted to know how much you heard and–"

"Why don't you want to ask?" She cuts in, her eyes wide and curious. "I mean, your father dropped quite a brick on you. You have to be–"

He shakes his head. "I trust you," he tells her easily. "If you tell me that Daniel is Henry's father, then Daniel is Henry's father."

"Simple as that."

He nods. "As simple as that."

She looks back at the sandwich and he watches as her face scrunches as she struggles to keep her tears at bay. "I can't believe Zelena would–" She stops and looks up at him. "No, that's not true. I can believe it." She takes a breath and swallows hard. "I just don't understand why it is that every mistake I've ever made has to haunt me. It's not like this for other people, it's…"

Her voice trails off as her eyes press closed and tears seep out from the corners. "Come here," he murmurs as his arm folds around her shoulders. "Its–"

"Robin, you shouldn't. Someone might–"

"See us?" He asks. "I don't care. All they'll see if a man comforting his wife. There's no crime in that and there's no scandal." He presses a kiss to her hair and his eyes shift to the boys, happily unaware of the scene unfolding behind them as they watch the fountain sputter and spray water into the pool. "And I wouldn't call them mistakes, exactly."

"You wouldn't?" She asks, lifting her head from his shoulder. "And why is that?"

"Because Henry isn't a mistake and you loving Daniel wasn't a mistake… and me believing in you isn't a mistake, either."

A little grin edges on her lips. "You're really something, you know that?"

"My nanny used to tell me that I was hard-headed, that once I got an idea into my head, I'd never let it go."

"Your nanny was right, and… I'm thankful." She takes a breath. "I'm glad that, for whatever reason, you got it stuck in your head that I'm worth marrying, that I could be good wife and mother, and–"

"And I'm grateful you accepted and let me be proven right," he teases as her eyes roll and a hint of a smile tugs at her lips once again. "Though, you were a good mother before I ever came along."

For a moment, neither of them says and anything, and instead focusing on their sandwiches. He bites into his while she picks at the crust of hers–and he finds himself regretting that he'd ever brought up the subject and that he even gone breakfast, at all. They could have had a perfectly enjoyable day–and her secret would be safe for another day.

Yet, here they were having a forced discussion about something neither of them wanted to talk about–because someone else decided that they should.

"You're sweet to defend me like this," she says, a sad little smile tugging on to her lips as her eyes drift past him, suddenly look so lost and far away. "But, in this case, it's not altogether deserved."

"Regina…"

"Robin," she cuts in, shaking her head as she looks back to him. "I did sleep with the prince, or… well… I sort of did." Her eyes sink closed and she draws in a breath. "Or, at least, I started to," she says as her eyes open. "I'm not really sure how to explain it."

"Then don't," he says simply. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to or aren't ready to."

"I do, though," she says, shrugging her shoulders as she looks away. "If you feel the need to defend me, you should know what it is that you're defending."

He only nods, staying quiet as he watches her fumble with her fingers–he can tell it's difficult for her and he wants to ask if this is the secret that upset her so much when they'd been at the lodge. But he doesn't ask, instead he just waits, regretting that this is a conversation they have to have at all.

"It's funny," she begins, looking over at him. "I don't even remember meeting him the first time. He said we'd danced, but I don't remember that and I couldn't wrap my head around why a prince who was older than my father would want to marry a ditzy little girl like me, but he did and… he wrote to my parents, inviting them to his palace and…" Her voice trails off and she sighs. "I thought it was the end of the world."

"It would have been the end of _your_ world, had you actually married him," he tells her, his voice soft and gently and he hopes it's also reassuring. "Nothing would have ever been the same for you."

She nods. "The night before we were supposed to leave, I met Daniel in the hayloft above the stable. That was… our place, sort of, it was where we'd meet and… talk and…" She sighs and shakes her head, scoffing as she looks away, focusing on her hands folded awkwardly in her lap. "I only meant to say goodbye, but I thought it'd be the last time I ever saw him and…" Her voice trails off and she looks back to him with a shy little smile. "I couldn't just _say_ goodbye."

"No," he murmurs. "I don't imagine that you could."

"I thought I'd be back by morning–I was sure that I would be–but I fell asleep with him, and when my maid came in to wake me and found my bed empty, she thought I'd run away."

"I don't think you could be blamed for wanting to."

"Daniel wanted to," she tells him. "That night, he wanted to, but I was too afraid, so we… we stayed and we… we had one last night together." Her voice hitches in her throat and when he reaches out to take her hand, she flinches, but doesn't pull away. "My mother found us together, wrapped up in a blanket."

"I'm sure she wasn't please."

"No," she's quick to say. "She wasn't at all pleased, and she made no effort to hide what a complete and utter disappointment I was to her." He gives her hand another squeeze and she looks down at her lap, watching as his thumb rubs against the back of her wrist. "I thought maybe she'd cancel the trip, but she didn't and she told me that if I did anything to mess up a marriage to a prince, there'd be no going back."

His brow creases. "Oh, Regina…"

"And I wanted to desperately to do _something_ that made her proud, that made her love me."

"She–"

"No," Regina cuts in. "She doesn't love me. I think at one point, she used to, but I don't think she does now, and I don't think she did then." And then tears well in her eyes. "But I _wanted_ her to. I desperately wanted her to love me."

He draws in a breath and nods–it's a feeling he's felt himself, but he suspects, his own strained relationship with his father was nothing when measured against her relationship with Cora. "So, then what happened?"

"We went to Bavaria and the prince threw this incredible ball to welcome me and my parents. I danced with him and I tried to laugh at his jokes and pretend that I found him interesting, and… I did exactly what my mother wanted me to do."

"Something tells me this plan is about to go terribly awry."

She nods. "He kept drinking and getting sloppier and sloppier until he was slurring his words and he couldn't walk in a straight line, and he kept holding onto my arm and putting his weight on me, trying to balance himself."

"What a good time," he mutters as a knot starts to form–it's not difficult to see where this is leading. "That must've been such a glimpse into what your life would have been."

"It was," she tells him, scoffing as she shakes her head. "And then my father came to my rescue." A little smile edges onto his lips, and though she doesn't talk about him very much, it's always obvious that her father tried his best to balance out his wife's icy and cruel treatment of their daughter–but it's also obvious that it was never enough. "He told me I was looking tired and insisted I go up to bed, and… I thought I was free of him, a least for the night."

"But you weren't."

"No," she says, shaking her head. "It wasn't long after I'd changed out of my dress and into my nightgown that he came into my room, and… I suddenly understood why he wanted to marry a ditzy little girl, like me."

"Oh, God, Regina. Did he–"

"No," she breathes out. "Not… not like that." He blinks and he feels heat riding up the back of his neck and he feel his jaw tightened, but still he holds her hand loosely, rubbing his thumb gently at the back of her wrist in a way that he hopes is comforting to her. "He told me that he wanted to be sure that I was pure, that I hadn't given myself to anyone before him, that was still virtuous." She shrugs, and looks at him with teary eyes. "And all I could hear was my mother's voice, telling me to do whatever he asked and not to mess up the engagement, and I figured there was no way of _actually_ knowing that I wasn't… or that I'd…"

"Did he hurt you?" He asks, as her voice trails off. "Did he–"

"No," she says, cutting in and shaking her head, offering him a sad little smile. "Not really."

"What happened?"

"I let him take off my nightgown and I… let him touch me and I…" She stops. "I'd only ever been with Daniel like that and we were just kids, we didn't know what we were doing, we just did what felt good, but it didn't feel good with him. He kept trying to… hold my head down and that made it hard to breathe, and just when I'd get used to something, he'd change his mind." She takes a breath and her cheeks flush as she looks up a him, and still he rubs at her wrist. "Then, we got into bed and… it was over."

He blinks. "Over…"

She nods. "I don't know that it ever actually began, but…" She shrugs. "And then he fell asleep."

"Oh…"

"And I was pinned down beneath him, and he was too heavy to move and…" Her eyes sink closed. "It was all just so unpleasant." She takes a breath as her eyes open and she looks back at him, her eyes again brimming with tears. "When he woke up, he apologized and said he didn't remember much of what happened, but then he looked at me and… he saw what was obvious."

"You were pregnant."

She nods. "I wasn't really sure until then that I was. There were dozens of signs, but I dismissed them all. I'm sure any idiot would have been able to figure it out, but–"

"Regina, you were so young."

"And in denial."

"I can't imagine that was an easy thing for you to accept."

"And I knew it'd be even harder for my parents. I wasn't sure which of them would take it harder, my mother–who always saw the worst in me–or my father–who always tried not to."

"So, is that how they found out?"

She shakes her head. "Leopold didn't tell my parents. He told me that he couldn't marry me, but he felt badly about the way he behaved, so he promised that he'd leave it to me to tell them. He just said something about me just being too young–which is funny because about a year later, I read in the paper that he married a girl younger than me, and prettier."

"Younger, maybe," he says as a light grin twists onto his lips. "I'm not so sure about prettier."

Her brow arches. "Are you flirting with me?"

"I am."

Her eyes roll, but a hint of a smile edges onto her lips. "You're impossible."

"And you're smiling." She rolls her eyes again and her smile broadens, nonetheless. "So, how does Zelena Greene factor into all of this?"

"Oh," she breathes out, shaking her head. "I told her. I told her all of it, and when I got home, she wrote to my parents and asked if she could have a party to cheer me up." She shrugs. "My father agreed, deciding I either needed cheering or that we needed to celebrate dodging a bullet, and… when I walked in, everyone was staring at me, and everyone knew." She blinks and shrugs, shaking her head as her smile fades. "It was absolutely horrifying."

"Did Daniel know already?"

She nods. "I told him that afternoon, and then… by that night, we were on our way."

"Did you tell him about what happened with the prince?"

"No," she murmurs, shaking her head as she looks away. "I was too ashamed to tell him what I'd done, or what I let Leopold do to me." She shrugs her shoulders as she looks back at him. "I'd decided that would be my secret… well… mine and Zelena's, I suppose."

"And now, she's told your father." He breathes out and nods, his eyes closing momentarily. "I'm sorry that–"

"It's not your fault."

"And it's not yours." She sighs and nods, and he can tell that she doesn't believe him. "Regina, I hate to ask this, but–" He pauses and draws in a breath, remembering how upset she'd been at the lodge after receiving the letter from her mother, how she thought there was something she couldn't share, something she was too embarrassed to voice. "Is this the secret you've been keeping?

"No," she answers in a meek voice. "I wish it were. I wish this was the worst it of it." She shifts her eyes back to him. "Robin, after Daniel died, I did something that–"

"Mama! Mama, look!" Henry calls, pointing to a man pushing a cart along the cobblestone path just beyond the fountain. "Look! It's the ice cream man!"

"Can we have ice cream?" Roland asks, pressing his hands together as he pleads. "Please, can we?"

Quickly, she bats her hands over her eyes and puts on a smile–and he finds himself wondering how often she's done that, how often she's pushed aside her feelings for the benefit of someone else, to conceal from them how she's really feeling.

"Well, we did promise," she says, setting her barely-touched sandwich on the bench beside her. "So, I suppose we have to get some."

Roland's brow creases. "You didn't promise. You said maybe." Henry's eyes widen as he looks to Roland–and both he and Regina laugh out. "Well, she _did_ ," Roland tells him in a loud whisper, and again, they both laugh as they rise up from the bench.

His hand slides against the small of her back, and when she doesn't pull away so he slips his arm around her waist and pulls her in–and he feels a small thrill of victory when she smiles at him and reaches for Henry's hand while he takes Rolands.

They buy them ice cream cones and slowly wander back to their picnic. The boys settle back on the grass in front of the fountain and Regina eats her sandwich as he finishes his, and for awhile, they don't really say much. And he's glad the silence between them no longer feel heavy or awkward.

Finally, it's Regina who breaks the silence.

"You know, I didn't hear whether or not you told your father what happened with Celeste last night," she says as she crumbles up the wax paper that her sandwich had been wrapped in. "I came in in the middle of the conversation and judging from when you showed up in the nursery, I left just before the end."

"I did tell him," he sighs. "I didn't wait around for his response. I was too frustrated with him."

"Oh…"

"But I don't imagine he'll want to put forth the effort of replacing her, so I think it'll be left up to us."

"I'd hope so."

He nods. "You know, before you came in last night, I'd been thinking about what we should do, and it occured to me that Henry's school-aged now. A nanny might not be–"

"I won't send him away to school," she cuts in, shaking her head. "I couldn't stand it."

"I wasn't thinking that," he assures her. "And I don't want to send him away."

"Good…"

"So, I was thinking that rather than a traditional nanny, we should hire a tutor… someone whose role would change as the boys grow up."

"I like that," she says, nodding as a smile draws on to her lips. "I like that idea a lot, but it's not traditional for boys to–"

"I'm not interested in doing thing for the sake of tradition," he tells her. "I'm interested in doing what's best for us and for our sons, and I think this is it." Grinning, he takes her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "So, perhaps while we're here in town, we should place an ad."

"That's a good idea," she nods. "The newspaper office is just down the street from the seamstress. It's on the way, and I'm sure Belle will be glad if we're a little later than anticipated."

"Perfect," he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "And… I'm sorry about this morning."

"I am, too."

"I wasn't your fault."

"But it wasn't yours either."

"I'm… I'm glad you told me about you and the prince." He hesitates for a moment. "And not because I wanted to know or I thought I deserve an explanation, but because I want you to know that you can confide in me."

For a moment, she just looks at him–and it seems like she actually might be considering it. "Even if it's something terrible?"

"Even if it's something terrible," he says, nodding. "There will be no judgement, just an empathetic ear."

She nods, scoffing a bit as she looks to the boys and she doesn't say anymore–and neither does he.

It's dusky when they arrive back at Sherwood–and his stomach drops when he hears a high-pitched laugh coming from the library, and he watches the color drain from Regina's face.

Though he's never properly met Zelena Greene, he knows that it's her–and he remembers some sort of passing comment made by someone as they were leaving that she'd be coming over for tea. He'd dismissed it then, thinking she'd be long gone by the time they returned, that Regina wouldn't have to face her, that they could be ships passing in the night–but when her laugh rings out followed by a hearty chuckle from his father, he knows that was merely wishful thinking.

"Why don't you go up and get the boys ready for their dinner?" He suggests, watching as Regina takes Henry and Roland by the hand and nods, looking even paler than she did before. "I'll see what this is all about, and hopefully find out when she's leaving."

His jaw tightens as he turns from Regina to the library–and he watches as Zelena presses a fluttering kiss to his father's lips as she giggles.

"I should be going," she says. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"You couldn't–"

"No," Robin cuts in. "You couldn't because you're _not_ welcome."

"Robin!" Richard scolds. "There's no need for such rudeness. Apologize."

"I won't," Robin says, gritting his teeth at his states at Zelena.

Her brow arches as she turns away from Richard. "You've been talking to that wife of yours." A sly little grin twists onto her lips. "Where is Regina, anyway?"

"Upstairs tending to our sons," he says, jaw still clenched as he reminds him not to say too much, not wanting to give her any sort of leverage or let her know that she'd gotten to Regina or that all these years later, her betrayal still stung. "We're currently without a nanny."

"Mm," Zelena nods. "That's to be expected." And then, she turns away from Robin and back to Richard. "I really should be going."

"You've been saying that for more than an hour." Robin's face scrunches and he swallows hard as Zelena presses her hand playfully to his father's chest and laughs. "Perhaps you should give in and stay, just for dinner, of course."

"But I haven't anything formal to wear, and I'd hate to be improper."

Robin's eyes roll and the thinly veiled dig, and he decides he can't stomach any more of it. "Well, I've no interest in seeing you out," he says. "So, I'll just be upstairs until dinner."

He hears his father grunt something in reply, but he's already at the stairs, taking them two at a time–and when he reaches the nursery, he hears a long and dramatic groan from Roland.

"But why?" He whines. "We used to eat with you and papa while we were at the lodge."

"I know," Regina replies in a soft, sweet voice. "But that was different."

"But _why_?"

Robin pushes into the nursery and a smile draws onto his lips when he finds Regina sitting on the floor with Roland in her lap. Her back is against the wall and her legs are outstretched–and he can't help but notice how much more at ease she is here, with their sons, tucked away in the nursery.

"I like eating in here better," Henry says, looking up from the little block castle he's constructed. "Mr. Locksley is grumpy all of the time."

That stabs at his heart a little, and it's hard to be feel guilty and responsible for putting Henry in such an uncomfortable situation, with a man who clearly resents his presence in the house for no reason other than he resents the boy's mother's presence. Henry looks down, focusing again on the pile of blocks that form a castle and he waves his dragon over the top, letting it swoop and dive before it finally lands on the drawbridge.

Then, Henry blinks up at his mother. "It makes my tummy hurt," he tells her

And the pangs of guilt sting a bit more as he thinks of Henry's mysterious stomach ache the night before they'd returned, and once again, he finds himself wondering if bringing them back here was really worth it, if maybe there's another way.

"Papa," Roland asks, suddenly realizing he's standing at the threshold. "Why can't we eat with you and Regina?"

"Because," he murmurs, shifting closer and knowing Roland won't understand his reply. "Children aren't allowed in the dining room," he says. "And our dinners last much longer than yours."

Roland pouts. "Because you have more deserts?"

"No," Robin says, chuckling softly as he sinks down to the floor. "Because you have to sit still for a very long time and sometimes, the food isn't quite to the liking of little boys, and the conversation can be quite dull or not things you're meant to hear."

"Speaking of dull and delicate conversation," Regina begins, her eyes turning up to meet his. "Are we expecting a guest."

"Um, no," he says slowly. "My father's guest isn't staying."

"Oh," Regina murmurs, breathing out a sigh of relief. "That's–"

"Then who's that?" Henry asks as he points out to the window. "There's a carriage coming."

Robin blinks. "Not going?"

Henry shakes his head, and he stands up and moves to the window, lifting Henry up and watching as the carriage nears–and then, when it's close enough, he see the distinctive silhouette of his mother-in-law.

"Grandpapa!" Henry calls out, excitedly as he points to the window. "Mama! Grandpapa is here! He's here!"

Regina's head tips to the side. "And I assume he's not alone?"

"No," Robin murmurs, shaking his head. "Your mother is definitely with him."

He watches as Regina's eyes sink closed–and he can see the weight of dinner with Cora added to her shoulders. "Just perfect."

Henry's squirms out of his arms and as soon as his feet touch the floor, he's bouncing around the room. Roland wiggles from Regina's arms, and though he doesn't have much of a reason to celebrate, he's at least stopped pouting and his distracted

"I think _I_ have a tummy ache," Regina sighs as Robin sinks down beside her. "Any chance I can use you firing Celeste as a reason to get out of dinner with my parents?"

"No," he says, chuckling softly. "I think we've got to suffer through this one together."

"I suppose a quiet and uneventful dinner was too much to ask for," she sighs. "I'm not sure I have the emotional stamina for this," she tells him as he reaches out and takes her hand–and he watches as a little grin edges on to her lips as his fingers fold down around hers. "I blame you."

"Me?" He asks, chuckles softly. "What did I do?"

"You took me away from here, let me let my guard down," she tells him, grinning. "I actually got used to not being on the defensive, all of the time."

"That was nice, wasn't it?"

She nods. "I'm counting down the days until Christmas."

"Me, too," he confesses with a sigh. "And to be fair, I think we should go at the start of December, before the cold really sets in."

"In two days, it'll be September…"

"Just two months."

"I think I can manage that," she murmurs–and before she can say anymore, there's a quick knock on the nursery door, and her father peeks in–and Henry goes flying toward him, and Regina laughs out.

"Grandpapa!" Henry exclaims as his arms wrap around his neck. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"I'm glad to see you, too," the older man confesses. "I've missed you!"

"And I've missed you," Henry says sincerely, pulling back and batting his eyes. "And not just because you always have cookies."

Robin's eyes slide to Roland, watching the way he perks up and fidgets awkwardly, wanting to join but not knowing how–and then, Henry tucks his grandson under one arm and looks to Roland. "I don't suppose you'd like a cookie?" Roland blinks and nods, and Henry laughs. "Then, you'll have to come here and get it. Roland's eyes widen and Henry giggles, watching as he pulls a paper bag from his pocket–and Roland has no more hesitation, as he runs toward the big, round cookie. "You don't mind, do you?" He asks, looking to his daughter–and Regina only shakes her head.

For a few minutes, they all fall into an easy conversation about the weeks they spent at the lodge–and he can't help but notice how much more relaxed Regina is talking to him than she is with her mother. He asks them questions that he genuinely wants to hear an answer to and he smiles and laughs and gently teases. She tells him about the orchard and the cider and her kitchen excursions–and the boys tell him all about helping in the stables and their music lessons and playing in the fields. And when her father smiles and sincerely tells them he's glad they had some time away to enjoy one another's company, it feels so genuine and heartfelt.

A maid comes in with a tray, and on her heels is Belle, reminding Regina that it's time to change–and when she rises up, looking between Belle and the boys' dinner, her father offers to watch them while they change, rolling his eyes and reminding them that if he gets to sit with the boys as they have their dinner, it means less socializing with Cora and Richard, so really they're doing him the favor, and not the other way around.

Robin helps her up as Henry takes a seat and the too-small table where the boys eat their meals, and he can't help but chuckle as Henry pulls another bag from another pocket, and this time, instead of cookies, he reveals a palm full of marshmallows and a small jar of ground up cinnamon.

"You just… carry that with you?" Regina asks, blinking at her father. "On the off chance you'll be served sweet potatoes?"

Henry grins up at her daughter and gives her a quick wink. "I might have sent a letter to inquire about what the boys would be served."

"That was sweet," she says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "And I'm sure they'll enjoy it."

"It's the least I can do to make up for your mother's company," he sighs–and again, Robin finds himself chucking as his hand meets the small of Regina's back, and he guides her out of the room.

They go to their rooms to be dressed for dinner, and a half an hour later, he's joining Regina at the top of the stairs to go down to join the other for dinner. He offers her a wink and then his arm, and they walk slowly, neither really wanting to reach their short destination.

Cora's tongue clicks as soon as they enter, but it his surprise–and likely to Regina's–the admonishment isn't directed at her or even him, but at his father. And he feels a slight glimmer of hope that perhaps his mother-in-law and his father will turn their attention at trying to one-up the other and leave them alone.

Robin pours them both a drink–and forgoes the ice cubes to make more room for the whiskey–and then they settle together on the couch, listening as their respective parents bicker.

"Should we go and fetch your father?" Robin whispers. "Or should we see how long he can get away with hiding in the nursery?"

"This is the only chance he has to be away from her for a little bit."

"So, leave him?" He asks, chuckling softly. "Because while I empathize with this need to get away, I'm also concerned about our sanity." She giggles and takes a sip of her drink, then coughs at the strength of it–and that earns them both a scornful look from their parents.

But before either can offer an admonishment, the door opens and her father steps into the room with Henry on one hip and Roland on the other.

"Two little boys wanted to say goodnight," he calls in a nearly sing-song voice. "They ate all their chicken and all of their sweet potatoes–"

"That's because you let them smother it in marshmallows," Regina interjects as a soft grin edges onto her lips.

"And cinnamon," he reminds her with a wink as he bends to set down the boys, gently pushing them in the direction of their parents. "They even had room to finish their cook–"

Cora's tongue clicks as the boys climb onto the sofa with them–Henry settling at Regina's side while Roland crawls into his lap. "Henry, this is completely inappropriate."

"I have to agree," Richard says in a disinterested voice. "I know you family tends to do things in _unconventional_ way, but–"

"Unconventional? Cora snaps, looking back at Richard. "Just because my daughter made poor–"

"Ah, Cora," Henry cuts in, nodding toward his grandson. "They only wanted to say goodnight to their mama and–"

"And in their _nightclothes_."

At that, Henry's eyes roll–and Robin grins, and in that moment, he sees so much of Regina in him. "They're _babies_ , Cora," he sighs. "It wouldn't matter if they came down in their birthday suits."

"Well," Richard scoffs. "Now I know where certain members of your family get their virtues."

Henry sighs loudly and glares at Richard. "I'll tuck them in and–"

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Cora scoffs. "And we're to just wait around for dinner?"

"No," Henry says simply. "You shouldn't wait. You should go through. I'll join you when these two lads are tucked in." He grins and offers them a quick wink as he collects the boys. "I assume a story is in order?"

"Yes," Regina tells him. "There's a book beside Henry's bed with a ribbon where we last left off."

"Perfect."

"Is it?" Richard sighs, disinterestedly.

"I like having you here," Roland says, pouting a little as they start out of the room. "I hate living here." At that Richard looks up, watching as his grandson drops his head to Henry's shoulder–and his face reddens. "I miss the hunting lodge. "You should come with us the next time… and bring cookies…"

Richard grunts as Roland's voice fades away and he stands, and then without saying anything the starts toward the dining room, and Cora quickly follows, her chin tipped up with something either looks like indignation or indigestion.

Regina rises and takes a step forward, but he grabs onto her hand. "Did… your father just worm his way out of dinner?"

"It appears so."

"And it's just… accepted."

She nods and grins as he takes her hand. "You saw those plates that were brought up for the boys. There was easily enough food for three, and who knows what else he had stuffed into his pockets."

"I have to say," he says, as they step into the long corridor that connects the drawing room to the dining room. "I'm both impressed and envious."

Nodding, she chuckles softly. "He's been at this a lot longer than we have."

"Maybe we should bring him along with us at Christmas. Something tells me he'd fit in quite well with Winston, Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley."

"He would," she agrees. "I think he'd be Winston's shadow."

"Waking up at the crack of dawn to tend to barn animals and spending his afternoon making cider?"

"Absolutely," Regina nods. "It'd be quite a nice adventure for him."

"An escape is more like it," he says as they turn into the dining room. "Do you think he'd be up for it?"

Regina laughs as she looks to him. "I think he'd run alongside the carriage if it meant a month or so away from my mother."

Robin sighs as he watches Cora and his father sitting at the table, waiting for them in silence and staring off in opposite directions and wearing the same haughty expressions. "I can't imagine why," he murmurs. "She's positively delightful."

And then, she laughs out again and this time its louder and more abrupt, and this time it earns a cross look from both her mother and his father–and he can't help but grin, and despite their company, he has high hopes for the rest of their evening.

Finally, the quietly uncomfortable dinner with Cora and Richard comes to and end, and he and Regina set out to the nursery to track down her father while. They find him in an arm in the room attached to the nursery where Celeste used to sleep. His feet are propped up on an ottoman and he has both boys sleeping on his lap, their little faces pressed to his chest.

There's a low fire burning at the hearth and the wrought iron screen is pulled away from it in and sits in the center of room with a sheet draped over it.

"We had a puppet show," Henry explains, grinning as they enter the room. "It was quite the production, if I do say so myself."

Regina grins and sits on the edge of the bed across from them. "They usually were."

"I'd like to do it again," he says as a smile draws on to his lips. "I don't know why you've gotten rid of their nanny and I assume you're searching for a replacement, but in the meantime, I'd like to help."

"That's kind," Robin murmurs.

A grin twists onto his lips. "It's not entirely selfless. Tonight was a nice reprieve, and I enjoy their company." He looks between them. "I don't see enough of my grandsons, and I'd like to change that."

"We'd like that, too," Regina says. "But if you'd like to be allowed to come back, you'd better go. Mother's waiting, and she's already surly after an evening here."

Henry's eyes roll. "When isn't she surly?"

Robin can't help but laugh as he carefully lifts Henry from his grandfather's lap and then, he picks up Roland. Regina follows and they tuck the boys into their beds as her father puts on his shoes and jacket. Robin watches him grin watching Regina kiss each of the boys–and then, he touches his hand to her arm. His smile is warm and his eyes are kind as he tells her that he's missed her, and though she's probably not glad to be back, he's glad that she is. He leans in and kisses her cheek, and then disappear into the hall.

"I can't believe he used our children to get out of the entire dinner," Regina says, laughing softly as she rises up from the edge of Roland's bed. "Or that he stuffed them full of sweets."

"It was some marshmallows and a cookie," Robin says, shrugging his shoulders. "That's hardly stuffing them full of sweets."

Regina's brow arches. "You didn't notice how much puffier his coat was when he arrived?" She grins. "He used to do the same for me when I was a little girl. His pockets were always stuffed to the brim with snacks and goodies for me."

"You two were close."

"We were," she says, nodding and she sighs. "He was my ally against my mother."

Robin smiles as he goes around the nursery, blowing out the candles–and then, as he returns to their bedsides, he blows out the one on the nightstand and reaches for Regina's hand, giving it a little tug as he leads her out into the hall.

"Should we go back down?" She asks. "I don't know if your father–"

"No," Robin says, shaking his head. "I don't know about you but I'm tired and I'd like to go to bed, and I've seen enough of my father for one day."

She nods. "It has been an exhausting day… emotionally, at least."

"I'm glad you confided in me."

"I am, too," she admits, smiling a bit sheepishly as she looks up at him. "And I'm glad today isn't the day you learned something about me that you couldn't forgive."

"There's nothing to forgive," he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. "Not today or any other day." She smiles and nods, but he can tell she doesn't believe it, and for a moment, he thinks to ask her what she was going to say before Henry interrupted them in the park. But he doubts she'd tell him now, so instead he smiles and moves the conversation in another, easier direction. "So, are you ready to retire to _our_ room?"

"You still want to do that?"

"Share a room with you?" He asks, his tone incredulous. "Of course I do."

"I thought maybe you'd want a little time away from me. We did spend the whole day together."

"I like spending my whole day with you," he tells her easily, giving her hand a little tug. "And my nights. A little grin edges onto her lips as they walk to the bedroom–and he closes the door behind them. "Should we call for Belle and John? I know it's a bit early, but–"

"Oh," she murmurs. "I hadn't thought…." She bites down on her lip. "Would it be awkward for them, with both of us here?"

Robin shrugs. "We'll figure it out, and until we do I can manage on my own, and if you need help with your dress, I can–"

"You're getting good at helping with my dresses."

He grins and reaches for her, hooking his arm around her waist and drawing her in. "I like helping with your dresses."

She laughs a little and he feels her relax–and then, he can't help but laugh when she yawns into the kiss. Her cheeks flush slightly and she grimaces, reminding him that she said she was tired. He nods and helps her undo the buttons at the back of her dress and they change into their night clothes and blow out the candles around the room, leaving just the dim glow of the fire.

They get into bed and she rolls onto her side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek as she looks to him. "I like spending my nights with you, too," she tells him as he rolls onto his side to face her. "And I know I've been… a little sullen since we came back–"

"I don't think you've been."

"It was just… I started off the morning feeling so… happily content, and then I came down to breakfast and–"

"My father had to go and ruin it."

"It was like a punch to the gut."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, and… I appreciate you defending me."

"Always," he says easily as a little grin edges onto his lips. "I do wonder, though, how much you heard."

"Most of it, I think. I heard him talking about my indecent and unladylike behavior, and then I left when you would let him… say unkind things about my son."

He swallows and nods. "That's most of it."

"Did you ever figure out why Zelena was here?" She asks a bit tentatively. "The charm I found was hers, so she must've stayed over one night, and she's obviously confiding things."

Robin nods and suddenly his stomach feels a bit unsettled as he recalls the way she's pressed her hand to his chest and leaned in for a kiss. "Um, it appears that they're… um… involved."

Regina blinks. "Involved?"

"Romantically."

Her lips part and her eyes widen and she looks unsettled. "Oh… I… I don't know how to respond to that."

"It makes me a little ill, truthfully."

She nods. "I wonder if there are genuine feelings there or if she's… just…" Regina's eyes squeeze closed and her face scrunches. "I don't want to think about it," she decides. "I'm sorry that I asked."

"I am, too," he admits, laughing softly. "I'd rather not think about what Zelena and my father are… up to."

"No…" Her eyes open and she takes a breath. "No, and I don't want that to be the last thing I think of before I go to sleep." She sighs. "I might dream about it."

"And that would be unpleasant in a lot of ways."

"Yes, it would be."

He grins as she bites down on her lip. "Is there something that you'd rather talk about., something that wouldn't haunt your dreams?"

"Well, I was thinking about your idea of bringing on a nanny who could also be a tutor."

"Oh? Do you have someone in mind?"

"I think I do," she says with a nod. "But… I don't think your father would ever hire her."

Immediately, he brightens. "Someone my father would hate? Tell me more."

Giggling softly, she nods. "It's Daniel's aunt, actually. Her name's Maltilde, but everyone calls her Mal, and she's been working as governess for a family up north, but the youngest girl just turned sixteen."

"And is outgrowing her governess more and more everyday."

Regina nods. "She was always kind to me, and… I'd like to repay her kindness."

"Of course."

"She's going through a hard time right now, and… I think the change might be good for her."

"Oh? Did something happen?"

Regina nods and smiles sadly. "About a month before we married, she wrote to me and told me that…um, the…woman she's been involved with for something like twenty years passed away and…"

"Oh," he murmurs. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She nods. "She lived in the house with the family. She was the sister of the lady of the house, and she'd been sick for a long time and then… one morning…" Robin sighs–they both know all too well what it's like to wake up one morning and find your work has changed, that the person you thought you'd grow old with was gone and in their place was a hollow emptiness that seemed like it could never be filled–and though he doesn't know this woman, his heart goes out to her. "She hasn't even really been allowed to properly grieve. Not many knew about them."

"You should write to her, then, and… if she's interested, the the job's hers."

Her brow arches. "You don't want to meet her first?"

"I don't need to," he says easily. "If you think she'd be a good fit, then that's enough for me." She nods and smiles, and he feels a grin tug up at the corner of his mouth. "It's probably a good thing we never placed that advertisement, then."

"Oh, that's right," she murmurs, chuckling softly. "And you never went to check on any of the tenants."

At that, he shrugs. "They didn't know I was coming, and now we've got an excuse to go into town again, and soon."

"I'd like that," she murmurs as he lean in and pecks her lips. "We should get some sleep."

"We should he agrees," sighing a bit reluctantly as she rolls onto her back–and then he rolls onto his.

They say their goodnights and then a comfortable silence falls between them. He closes his eyes and he thinks about that day–thinking about how wonderful it'd been to wake up with her asleep against him and though it'd been a difficult conversation, he was glad that she starting to become more comfortable with him and was perhaps starting to feel like she could maybe even confide in him.

He was laying still and his breathing was steady, and felt himself drifting closer and closer to sleep–but he wasn't quite there yet. And the, he felt Regina shift closer and roll onto her side, slowly reaching out and ghosting the back of her fingers against this stubbly cheek as she whispers a soft _I love you_ before carefully cuddling into his side.

It took everything in him not to reply–not to smile or say it back, not to roll onto his side and kiss her ir fold his arm around her–but he knew there was a reason that she hadn't said it to him just yet, at least not while she knew that he was conscious, and he figured there was no harm in letting her think this was her secret for just a little longer.


	19. Chapter 19

Regina's head pushes back into the pillow and she bites down on her bottom lip as Robin's fingers slip back down between her legs, his thumb circling lazily around her clit as two of his fingers glide easily as they curl and dip inside of her, slowly pushing in and out.

His lips settled long ago at the crook of her neck–and though she knows she should push him away before he ends up leaving a mark she'll agonize over hiding, it feels too good to actually follow through, and as his fingers start to pump a little faster and his thumb presses into her a little harder, it's difficult to give it more than a passing thought.

Her hand slips between them, ghosting slowly down his chest and stomach–and she smiles slyly to herself as her fingers curl around his cock.

He's getting hard again, she realizes as her hand slides slowly up and down his shaft, and there's a part of her that wants to feel him inside of her, a part of her that craves it–but there's another part of her that realizes how slippery that slope could get, and consequences of taking that chance again far outweigh the thrill.

Her breath catches in her chest as he pushes in a third finger, and her back arches up a little–this feels so damn good, and it's almost enough…

He sucks harder at her neck as his fingers move faster–pushing into her and curling, hitting on that spot that feels _so damn good_ , flicking against it a couple of times before uncurling and slipping out, only to be pushed back in. She hears a little moan escape her as his thumb continues to slide back and forth against her clit, rubbing it in rhythm with his thrusts.

Her hips move along with them, bucking in an effort to match his movements, trying in vain to keep him in for longer and to push him deeper, and she can hear her breath growing ragged–and when his lips pull away from her skin, a breathy moan escapes her and her eyes flutter open. Her cheeks flush slightly as she blinks up at him, watching the way he's watching her–and there's something so sexy about it.

Normally, this would be the sort of thing that embarrassed her–the sort of thing that would have her shying away and unable to look him in the eye. With Daniel, everything that happened before Henry had happened in stolen moments in the darkened stables and they'd simply been too young and inexperienced to really know how to please one another, and after Henry, moments of real intimacy had been few and far in between. But with Robin, it was different–it was so, so different.

It wasn't that he pushed intimate moments on her–it was quite the contrary, and the first few times they were together after that first time, she'd initiated. But Robin made intimacy a priority–and then, she slowly but surely realized he made _her_ a priority. He made sure to carve out time for them to be together–quiet moments alone, moments that weren't rushed and allowed them however much time they needed, and though she'd placed limits on what they could do together, he was never deterred by that and though this had only been going on for a handful of weeks, already he'd proven himself to be a creative and determined lover.

And that was a relief.

He didn't push her to do things she wasn't comfortable doing, and never once did he imply that what she'd allow wasn't enough for him. Their moments of intimacy was never one-sided nor was it a scoresheet. In some ways, it was part of their routine–yet at the same time, it was still exciting and spontaneous, and it was never quite the same.

Robin made her feel things she'd long ago stopped feeling–he made her feel confident and beautiful, he made her feel wanted and when she was with him, she never felt inferior or like she wasn't enough. And little by little, she was coming to the realization that his love wasn't conditional, that he meant it when he said he'd never judge her, and that maybe she really could trust him with her deepest and darkest secrets.

There was a part of her that wanted to tell him, a part of her that wanted the ease that would come with his comfort. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her, and tell her that he still loved her–but every time she came close, something stopped her. Sometimes, it was an interruption and other times, she couldn't find the words–and by the time she figured out what to say and how to say it, the moment had passed and she found herself wondering if this was the universe's way of telling her that some things were better left unsaid, that some secrets should remain as such. And then, once that thought entered her head, it was hard to get it to leave. For days after, the little voice at the back of her head reminded her that everyone had a breaking point, that there were something things that couldn't be looked past, and all too often, people were disappointing–and then, that voice began to sound more and more like her mother, reminding her of what she was and what everyone thought about girls like her. It told her that she was worthless and unlovable, that she was used and soiled and ruined, and if Robin knew, he'd cast her away, realizing that she wasn't worth the burden or the shame.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathes out, his voice hoarse and barely audible as his eyes linger over her–naked and squirming under his touch. He grins when she doesn't look away–and then, he slows the movement of his fingers, making her body thirst for more. Her hips move faster and his grin grows coy, making absolutely no effort to hide that he's enjoying teasing her–and then, as a little pouty whimper escapes her, he shifts himself up pulls away completely.

She blinks as she watches him reposition himself between her legs, again grinning coyly as he presses his hands to her legs, drawing up her knees and pushing them apart. Biting down on her lip, she grins as he leans in–she's so wet and his breath is so warm, and the contrast of the two sends a shiver up her spine and makes her clit ache for attention–and she lays back, content to let him tease her a little, to enjoy it and know a payoff is near.

He kisses her thighs and rubs her hips, and when her hand slips down between her legs, he lifts it away and kisses her palm–and when another little whimper escapes her, he finally gives in, leaning in and swiping his tongue over her. It's warm and wet and his stubbly cheeks tickle–and it all feels so good.

For awhile, he goes slowly–licking and swirling his tongue around her clit as his hands knead her thighs, his lips sucking just hard enough to elicit a little whimper every now and then–and there's a part of her that could allow this to go on for the rest of morning.

She squirming impatiently as her hand pushes into his hair–and she feels him laugh against her. It makes her smile and encourages her. She starts to rock her hips against his lips suck harder at her clit as his fingers find their way inside of her. She rocks harder and matches her pace, moving his fingers in rhythm with her as his mouth continues to pleasure her.

Her back arches up, pushing his fingers deeper–and she hears a low moan escape from her–and feels herself working her way closer and closer to her finishing point. Her movements become faster and more erratic, her breathing becomes huskier–and when he lifts her her legs over his shoulders, his fingers curl and uncurl repeatedly inside of her as his tongue and lips continue to ravage her clit. There's a part of her that wants to pull away, a part of her that can barely stand to let this go on, but there's another part of her that loves the tenderness and the way very little touch sends a shock through her. Her hips continue to move and she grips at the sheet beneath her, crying out in little whimpers that only seem to encourage him. She smiles to herself, biting down on her lip as she feels the muscles in her legs tightening–and then finally, that blissful release.

Robin slows down, his fingers slowly pulling out of her and rubbing at the wetness between her legs–and he smiles as she watches her pant, her chest rising and falling as she brings herself down from her high.

When he pulls away from her, he stretches out at her side, his arm draped over her as he rubs her hip. Slowly he turns her onto her side, pulling her into his arms and kissing her–slowly and tenderly. She pulls back, still breathing heavily, and he rests his forehead against hers, pecking lazily at her lips as he tells her that he loves her–and instead of saying it back, like she desperately wants to, she tips her chin up and kisses him again.

And she finds herself hoping for something she shouldn't want–and wanting it for all the wrong reasons. Though she'll barely acknowledge it for more than a passing moment, she knows that if it happened, they'd have no reason to stop themselves, that they could enjoy each other freely and without consequence–and though it'd be temporary, for just a little while, she'd be able to enjoy him fully.

"We could stay in bed all morning," he murmurs. "We could just… keep…"

"No," she sighs. "We can't."

She grins when he pouts. "Give me one good reason."

"I can give you two," she tells him, a little chuckle rising into her voice. "And I feel like we have this conversation more often than necessary."

"I agree," he laughs as pulls the blanket that's bunched at their feet up over them. "We should stop having this conversation and continue on with–"

"No," she laughs, leaning in and pecking his lips. "I love that you want to, though." Biting down on her lip, her smile fades. She never thought she'd have this. After Daniel died, she never imagined that she'd be happy again or that someone else would come along and love her–and never did she think she'd be so in love. "Promise you'll never stop asking."

"I think you know that I'm far too hard-headed to give up." He grins. "Besides, the new nanny is starting soon, and that gives me hope that one day in the near future you'll agree to stay in bed with me until luncheon."

She can't help but laugh and shake her head, quickly pressing a kiss to his lips. "Maybe," she sighs, rolling away from him and back to her side of the bed. "But your head isn't the only thing that's hard."

"Oh…" She grins as he looks down at the blanket covering him–and the noticeable peak. "Well, that's nothing thoughts of what's in my immediate future won't cure."

"Scrambled eggs don't get you all riled up?"

"Well, if I were eating them alone with you, maybe, but… breakfast with my father has a way of ridding me of all happy thoughts." With a sigh, Robin rolls onto his side and props his face up with his hand. "Speaking of my father…"

"Can we not then?"

"I was hoping we could spend a day in town. I know I've been saying this for a week now, but I really do need to check in on some of the tenants." He grins. "We could make a day out of it."

A grin twists onto her lips. "I'm fairly certain us making a day of it in town is the reason you haven't visited the tenants."

"Are you suggesting that I'm easily distracted?"

"I'm suggesting that bringing me along probably isn't the best idea."

He frowns. "I like bringing you along."

"But if you bring me, we have to bring the boys, and if we bring the boys…" She laughs softly. "We'll have to make a hundred stops. They won't be content just riding along in the carriage and visiting farms along the way. They'll bored and restless, and we'll end up at the park–and then we'll end up ordering luncheon from a pub and having a picnic, and then you'll give in when they beg you for a treat, and by the time we wrangle them back to the carriage, they'll both be tired and we'll have to come home."

Robin blinks. "I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Ruin my plans with your practicality."

Her eyes roll as a grin pulls onto her lips. "But what does this have to do with your father?"

"It'd get us away from him," he says easily with a shrug–and again she laughs. "And I… might have heard my father telling someone that he's inviting Zelena Greene over for tea."

"Oh."

"And I thought you'd probably want to avoid that." Her eyes press closed and her jaw tenses–and suddenly all the lightheartedness of the morning fades away and an uncomfortable ache settles at her core–and she feels him shift closer to her. "I'm not trying to force you out of–"

"Don't say my own home," she murmurs as her eyes open. "Because this isn't–"

"It is your home."

"It's your father's home, and the way things are going, it might even be Zelena's home."

He slides closer to her and nuzzles against her–and her heart aches. He's so sweet and loving, and no matter how hard she tries, she always manages to ruin perfectly wonderful moments between them. She opens her eyes and musters a smile, wondering when this will get too tiring for him, when he'll be too tired to comfort her or simply won't want to, knowing that it'll never help.

"If you don't want to go into town with the boys, you could always take them to your parents' for the afternoon. I'm sure they'd love to see your father."

Her brow arches. "And I'm sure I wouldn't want to see my mother."

"Well… we can drop them off and you can come with me."

It's tempting–really, it is. But the truth is, she has too much to do. Daniel's Aunt Maltilde had already responded to her letter–and in just a little more than a week, she'd be joining them at Sherwood. She'd accepted the offer immediately, conceding that a change was probably for the best–after all, the oldest of her girls was being courted, and ladies generally didn't take their governesses along with them when they got married. She'd only asked for more information about the boys–their ages, their interests, their learning needs–and Regina replied the following afternoon, and the very next day a box of curriculum arrived. It's clear that Mal was going to take this job seriously. With her, the boys would be learning the basics that children of their ages should learn–and they'd also be continuing the piano lessons they'd started at the hunting lodge, as well as French and German. She offered some choices in activities and other suggestions for their learning, she had hoped Robin and Regina would look through them and have their choices ready, so she'd start working with the boys on her first day. It was ambitious, but that was Mal–and in addition to the tasks Mal had given her, she had to prepare for her arrival.

Of course, she couldn't tell Robin that a housemaid had flat out refused to prepare the room attached to the nursery when she asked for it to be done–that was too embarrassing, and even if it weren't she knew how he'd react and though her father-in-law wasn't her favorite person, she didn't want to give him anymore reason to hate her or a reason to give Robin anymore grief–so she planned to do the work herself, and she needed him out of the way to do it.

"No," she sighs, reaching for her robe by the bedpost. "I should go."

"No," he murmurs as he draws her back. "Stay for just a little longer."

"I can't."

"Regina…" A little grin pulls onto her lips as she slides away from him, pulling her robe over her shoulders. "There's at least a half an hour before boys will wake up."

"That's… not it," she says, tying the robe at her waist and her cheeks flush as she bites down on her lip and her eyes shift down to the bed. "The, um… the sheets really need to be changed." She looks back to him, watching as a grin twists onto her lips. "Your side all nice and dry, but my side is… disgusting."

A little snicker escapes him and he presses his lips together. Then, as she pushes herself up, he reaches for her, tugging her up against his chest as he falls back onto his side of the bed–and as they topple back she can't help but laugh out. Robin rolls her onto her back, he brushes her hair away from her forehead–and she can't help but laugh again as he shrugs his eyebrows at her and reaches for the knot, letting the silky belt slip through his fingers.

"You… said we have a half an hour?"

"Technically, we have…" His voice trails off as he squints at the clock on the mantle–and then grins as he looks back her. "Thirty-seven minutes."

"I… should probably call Belle to–"

"The boys won't care if you're properly dressed to wake them up and chop up their eggs," he cuts in. "The only thing you'll miss if you delay getting dressed is breakfast with my father."

"Mm, that's true," she murmurs as he tugs at the belt, loosening the knot. "A lot can happen in thirty-seven minutes."

Once more his grin turns coy as settles himself at her side and opens her robe, pushing his hand over her hip as he draws her in, kissing her softly and sweetly–and for just a little longer, she lets herself get caught up in him, pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Robin yawns as he sits on one of the stools in front of the bar at the tavern and reaches for one of the menus.

He's made his way through half of the tenants–asking about crop rotation and grain, and a thousand other boring topics he had no interest in discussing. His thoughts kept wandering back to Sherwood–to Regina and the boys. It seemed silly to worry about them and even sillier to miss them–but he couldn't help it, especially with his father's sudden interest in Zelena Greene.

Pulling his pocket watch out, he looked at the time–there were still hours before tea which meant there were stil hours before Zelena's arrival.

Though he wasn't sure how much good it would do, he wanted to be there, if only to try to prevent her from spiraling with unnecessary guilt.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Blinking, he turns to see his father-in-law standing behind him, holding a stein filled to the brim with frothy beer. "Henry, what a surprise!"

The older man nodded and smiled as he lifted himself up onto a stool. "It wouldn't be if you knew how often I came here," he says, offering a hearty chuckle. "Cora wouldn't be caught dead in a pub, so… you see the appeal."

Laughing, Robin nods. "I do."

"And I don't suppose my lovely daughter and those adorable boys are joining you?"

Robin shakes his head. "No, they're at home."

"Ah, that's too bad."

"The last few times we've brought them into town, we've barely gotten anything accomplished, and a new… nanny or tutor or… whatever we're going to call her is starting soon, and Regina wanted to make sure things were ready."

"Ah, so you won't be sending my grandson away."

"No, I couldn't do that to Regina."

Henry smiles, and a look of relief settles in his eyes. "I knew I made the right choice, allowing you to marry my daughter."

"And everyday I am grateful that you did."

Henry's smile fades and takes a long sip of his beer, then looks soberly to Robin. "I'm serious," he says. "Her prospects were… non-existent and staying in a house with her mother after everything that happened would have squashed what was left of her spirit."

A tight smile pulls onto Robin's lips–if he didn't know that then, he certainly knows it now, and momentarily, he thinks back to that morning at the hunting lodge when Regina found and read Cora's letter, and everything about her changed. He'd not only seen it, but felt it physically–Cora's letter and whatever was in it, loomed heavily in the air and the tension her words created were nearly palpable. Taking a breath, he pushes away those thoughts and his eyes narrow. "You know, what Henry," he begins, letting a smile tug onto his lips. "I'll let you buy me that drink, if you'll let me buy you luncheon."

Henry nods and they settle at a table. They quickly place an order and when the ale is poured, Henry settles back in his chair, opposite Robin, narrowing his eyes. "I meant what I said," Henry tells him. "You've no idea the relief I had when you came to me, asking for her hand."

Robin nods, remembering that day.

He'd been so nervous. He'd only made up his mind that morning and he hadn't given himself time to process it or to weigh the pros and cons before heading over to Dragon Head to make his proposal. He didn't tell anyone–especially not his father–and the whole way there, he tried to think of another way to make things right between their families. But he couldn't, though, and by the end of the evening, he didn't want to–and though Regina was understandably skeptical, he knew that marrying her would be the best option for everyone involved.

They hadn't expected him–and he and Henry had only met a handful of times, mostly in the presence of his father and their families' lawyers. He hadn't said much and he had no reason to believe that Henry would allow him to marry his daughter–after all, the Locksleys were the enemy. He'd been shown to the library to wait–and as he did, he wandered over to the window, watching as Regina walked through the garden with Henry. She held his hand, swinging it back and forth, and he could see them talking–and though he had no way of knowing what she was saying, her son was looking up at her, carefully listening. His eyes were bright and he looked so content to be with her. Of course, he knew the things that people said about her–some things true and some things likely embellished for the sake of scandal–but as he watched her, he could see there was so much more to her than those stories. And he'd said as much to her father–he made no pretense about his intentions, this was a business deal, a blending of their estates. He knew vaguely of the feud between his family and hers, but it was never something he paid much attention to; and he also knew that had it not been for that, he and Regina would have likely been thrown together as children for the very purpose of consolidating wealth and power. He promised that he'd be good to her–that he'd be a kind husband and a friend, that they'd run the estate together, that they'd raise their sons as brothers. He promised to ask for no more than she was willing to give and assured him that there was no ulterior motive–and by the end of it, he'd earned himself a dinner invitation, which he gladly accepted.

Regina was not as glad about any of it.

She didn't trust him and when they'd been left alone together, she'd tried in vain to refuse him. Her fear was apparent and by the end of the night, she was practically hysterical–and by the end of the night, he'd found himself, once more, trying to find another way. But he couldn't, and in rare moment of unity, neither Cora or Henry would allow him to–it was done, he was engaged to their daughter. He didn't see her again until their wedding day–and all through their wedding, she'd struggled to keep her tears at bay. And he hated himself–and his father–for putting her through it.

"Quite frankly," he says, clearing his throat. "She saved me as much as I saved her."

"Maybe, but your position was never as dire as hers. She was so broken when she came back to us, and her mother didn't help her to heal."

He nods–that's likely true, if only because of his gender and the wealth he was to inherit, and while his relationship with his father was strained, he knew there was good in him, buried underneath the gruff and greed. With Cora, he wasn't so sure–and the more he got to know her, it seemed less and less likely. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How did you do it?" he asks, "How have you spent a lifetime at Dragon Head with… well…"

"With Cora?" he asks, chuckle softly as he shakes his head and sips his ale. "I've spent a great many hours at pubs around town." He pauses, and his face turns serious. "I do feel bad for Cora, sometimes. She didn't know what she was marrying. Her father made assumptions about what my inheritance would be. We didn't even meet until our wedding day, and I might've been the son of a marquis, but I was a fifth son, and not terribly interested in my family's business dealings. My father knew that and so did my brothers, and I always thought I could live off a meager inheritance." He grins. "Before Cora, I always thought I'd settle down up north and run a tavern or raise horses or something simple."

He smiles–that sounds an awful lot like what Regina had once wanted for herself, before her life had gone so terribly awry. "I imagine Cora wasn't impressed with either of those things."

"No," he laughs. "And for a while, we lived very separate lives."

"Oh? What changed that?"

Henry smiles softly. "Regina."

"Ah…"

"I was home for winter holidays–and both Cora and I decided the best way to deal with that was to be drunk for the entirety of it." He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, at some point, we got drunk enough to, um, fall into bed together and a few months later, she wrote to tell me she was with child."

"She wrote to you?"

He nods. "There was a girl in one of the little villages up north that I loved, and wasn't too bothered by the fact that I was stuck in a loveless marriage."

"Did Cora know?"

"I think so," he sighs. "She and I never talked about it, but I assume she knew." He shrugs and takes a quick sip of his ale. "I think she was content to have the house to herself, and the freedom to… do whatever she pleased." He chuckles softly as he sets down the mug. "I still don't know what that means, exactly."

"So, when Regina was born, you… just…"

"Had to make the best of it," Henry sighs. "For a while, I tried to be in both places. I tried to split my time, but it wasn't manageable, and I very quickly came to realize that Cora shouldn't be left alone with Regina."

He feels his stomach tighten. "Why?"

"She was a precocious toddler, and Cora had little interest in dealing with her. She was left to nannies and maids, and I'm sure you can imagine, keeping staff at Dragon Head has always been quite a challenge." He shrugged. "My daughter needed a parent, so I came home. And I stayed."

"For her."

He nods, "For her."

"And your… uh… girlfriend?"

"She understood," he says, sighing as he shakes his head. "She actually suggested I bring Regina to live with us, that she could be a mother to her, that we could raise her together."

"Why didn't you?"

"Cora would have never allowed that," he sighs. "She may not have been very interested in being a mother, but she's quite possessive. She'd have never let her go…out of spite, she'd never have allowed me to take her."

"So, you sacrificed your happiness for Regina's?"

"It's what a parent does." He nods, and a little grin edges onto his lips. "And I loved being her father." He laughs and Robin can't help but smile, watching as he momentarily loses himself in the memory of his little girl. "I don't regret any of it."

"I wouldn't imagine so."

Henry nods and chuckles softly–and then the laughter fades from his eyes. "We used to be so close."

"You still are," Robin murmurs as he rubs his fingers against his glass mug, not entirely sure whether or not that's true. "Or, you could be."

Henry nods and takes a sip of his ale, and the waiter brings them their food. For a few minutes their attention shifts to that–cutting into the pot roast and seasoning it to their liking. Robin takes the first bite and washes it down with a long swig of ale as his father in law butters a role–and for a second, he thinks their conversation might shift as Henry makes a comment about the warm bread.

"Does she ever talk about Daniel?" Henry asks, shifting the focus back to where it'd been. "Or does she–"

"She does," Robin says. "Frequently."

"That doesn't bother you?"

He shakes his head. "I've no interest in competing with a dead man."

"Ah…"

"Besides, I know better than most what it's like to lose love and how those feelings never really go away, you just… have to learn to live with it, to move forward in spite of it."

Henry's eyes press closed. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'd forgotten that."

Robin smiles gently. "I respect Daniel's place in Regina's life, just as she respects Marian's place in mine." Taking a breath, he pushes away his own painful memories, not wanting to make his father-in-law uncomfortable. "Besides that, he loved her and he loved Henry. I'd never want her to forget that or pretend that it was less than it was for my benefit."

Henry breathes out and nods. "I introduced them, you know."

"I didn't," Robin says, a smile pulling onto his lips–he'd never have guessed that Regina's father had been the one to play matchmaker–and somehow, that details makes him all the more endearing. "So, you liked him?"

"I did," Henry confesses. "He was a good boy and he loved my daughter deeply." He laughs softly, shaking his head. "I remember the day they met. His grandfather was a groomsman at Dragon Head, and whenever Daniel came to visit, he brought him to the stables."

"They were children when they met?"

Henry nods. "Regina was six. Daniel was seven–and when he saw her, I'm pretty sure it was love at first sight." He laughs out somewhat abruptly. "It took longer for Regina. She was far more interested in the horses than she was in him." Robin chuckles–none of that is hard to believe, and even now, Regina's trips to the stables to visit her beloved horse are daily. "I wish she'd have told me when that changed."

"That's… not exactly the sort of thing a girl typically tells her father."

"No," Henry muses. "I suppose not. But with Regina, I had to be both parents to her." He pauses to pluck a cube of potato from his plate. "I knew that they were fond of each other, but I didn't know how serious things had gotten." He sighs regretfully as he looks back to Robin. "Not until I found that damn letter."

"What letter?"

"That's how she told Cora and I that she was running off with Daniel, and that she was pregnant."

Robin nods as he cuts into the pot roast–and he feels like their conversation is drifting dangerously close to the topics Regina avoids, and dangerously close to the secret she holds so closely. He clears his throat–there's a part of him that wants to ask Henry if his suspicions are correct, but another larger part of him that refuses to betray her that way–and that's the part that wins. Besides, it's not the sort of thing one asks a girl's father. "From what I understand, she didn't feel like she had much of a choice," he says instead.

"But that's just it–she had options she didn't know she had." Robin's brow furrows and Henry sighs. "I'm not saying if I'd known what they were up to that I'd have invited him into her bedroom, but what was done was done and I'd have never cast her away because of it."

"You'd have supported the marriage?"

"If that's what she wanted, I'd have gladly accepted Daniel as a son-in-law. He was a good boy and he loved my daughter. And if that wasn't what she wanted or if she wasn't ready to be someone's wife, that would have been fine, too."

"You'd have… let them live in sin?" He pauses. "Not that I believe in sin or what they were doing was wrong," he adds. "It'd just have been unconventional, and I can't imagine Cora–"

"Cora would have never allowed any of it."

"So, Regina was right. She didn't have options."

Henry looks pointedly at him. "If given the choice between my wife's selective morality and whatever she wants on any given day, and my Regina's happiness, Regina would win every time." He shakes his head. "There'd have been no contest." Robin smiles and nods–there's something comforting in his father-in-law's steadfast belief in his daughter. "I suppose it's a moot point now, but–"

"I don't think it is," Robin argues. "I think she'd like to know, even if it can't change anything."

"It'd be too little too late."

"I disagree. I think it'd be nice for her to know that you'd have been on her side."

"Except I wasn't when it mattered."

"She didn't give you the option."

Henry nods, and for a moment, their conversation comes to a stand still–and for a moment, he gets lost in the hundreds of things that might've been different for her if she hadn't felt so lost and alone, how different she'd be if only she'd known that someone important to her was in her corner, rooting for her.

"She wrote to us, you know," Henry says, looking up from his plate. "Just after Henry was born."

"I didn't know."

"She wanted to come home." He feels his chest tighten as he thinks of the handful of memories she's shared with him–particularly about how she never saw going back as an option and how unwelcomed she'd felt when she'd inevitably had to. "Of course, the letter had gone directly to Cora. I found it months later, and by then, Regina had her answer." Robin's eyes sink closed. "I tried to help, but she was too stubborn."

"I both love and hate that about her," Robin muses. "It's both endearing and infuriating."

"She still doesn't know that I used to send men into the tavern where Daniel worked. I'd give them money and they'd leave it in tips." Laughing sadly, he shakes his head "She didn't know and neither did her mother."

"You should tell her."

Henry shakes his head. "I could have done more. I could have shown up there myself, made her see me."

"As you said, she'd have been too stubborn to allow that."

"And the truth was, I didn't want her to come back." Robin blinks and looks to his father-in-law, watching as he takes long sip of his ale, finishing it off. "I truly thought she'd be better off away from Dragon Head."

"You mean away from Cora."

Henry nods. "She and Daniel would have figured things out. They'd have been happy with a little bit of support." He sighs. "I know their life was hard–and that life was quite an adjustment for her–but I think they'd have found a way to be happy."

"I think they were happy already," Robin murmurs. "Even though it was hard, they made each other happy."

Again, a tight smile edges onto Henry's lips–and he's likely recounting all of the ways life had failed her. The guilt of it is written all over him. "Then Daniel died and I lost my connection. I lost the ability to help them when Regina needed it most." His eyes press closed. "And then…"

Robin swallows, holding his breath. Regina doesn't talk much about what happened after Daniel's death, and the time between then and her return to her parents' home. But he knows enough to know that it was filled with the darkest moments of her life. He knows she suffered a miscarriage and that she struggled to support her son, that life was bleak and was desperate–and he also knows she wants to keep those details to herself.

"Well, I'm you know," Henry murmurs as their eyes meet–and Robin finds himself nodding, hoping that if he pretends to know whatever it is his father-in-law is alluding to, it'll be left unsaid. Of course, he's curious and of course, he has his suspicions, but when it comes down to it, it doesn't really matter. What's done is done, and there's no changing it–and if it makes her feel better not to have to voice whatever secret she finds so unforgivable, there's no harm in that. He just wishes that she believed whatever her secret, it can't change the way he feels about her, that he'd love her all the same.

Almost as soon as Robin left, Regina rang for Belle–and she put on a smile as she asked her to procure and assist with the cleaning of the nanny's quarters.

Belle's brow had furrowed as she reminded her that such a task should fall to a housemaid and not the lady of the house, but Regina kept her smile and insisted it was something she wanted to do. Belle's eyes had narrowed, and she should tell that she didn't believe her–but it was too embarrassing to admit that her request had been turned down twice by two separate maids. She told herself that it was probably some sort of loyalty to Celeste–after all, she'd worked in the house since Roland had stopped needing a wet nurse and most of the maids were about her age–but she knew it had more to do with her than anyone else. Her cheeks flushed through, giving her away, and Belle took pity on her and dropped the subject, promising to return with a bucket of water and some lye.

Regina stood in the hallway and watched her go–and she drew in a long deep breath, glad to be done with the explanation. Of course she realizes that Belle is right and that she _should_ press the issue, but she knows the likely result will only cause tension between Robin and his father, and after Robin had overstepped his bounds and fired Celeste, she knew he was walking on thin ice. Releasing the breath, she pushes into the nursery, smiling warmly at the boys playing on one of the beds with some puppets–and a soft laugh escapes her when she notices Henry's puppet is a dragon.

She enters the room and looks around. It's sterile, almost–plain tan walls and faded brown carpet with a cream damask print and only a wooden cross hanging on the wall–and it very much looks like a place Celeste would have occupied. She smiles as she crosses the room, pulling the sheet from the iron screen in front of the fireplace and tossing it onto the bed. She moves the screen flush against the hearth where it belongs and laughs softly, remembering how excited Roland and Henry had been about the show her father had put on for them in the place of a bedtime story when her parents had visited the week before.

Throwing open the blinds, she looks out at the view–one that's nearly identical to the view from the boys' room. However, this window gives a better look at the oversized weeping willow at the edge of the garden. For a moment, she just stands there, thinking of Robin as a little boy, climbing into the tree and making his nanny fret with worry, and a little laugh escapes her as she remembers a story he told her about how he'd purposely get as high as he could and then stick his tongue out at her.

She turns the locks on the window and pushes it open, letting the warm summer air into the room–and almost instantly, the room feels more inviting. She moves to the bed, pulling off the soft green and white quilt and tossing it to the armchair by the fire. She strips the bed of its sheets and pulls off the pillow cases and then as she moves to the closet, the door creaks open.

"Ah, m'lady," Belle says as she comes into the room, setting the bucket down at the hearth. "You've gotten started without me."

"I haven't gotten very far," she laughs. "And Celeste may have been a lot things, but she wasn't unclean."

"No," Belle murmurs as she sets down a basket of scrub brushes. "She wasn't that."

"Did you get everything we need?" she asks, looking up at the empty closet, watching from the corner of her eye as Belle nods. "And did… anyone question it?"

Belle presses her lips together, and then releasing a breath, she smiles. "I found some lemons we can use to freshen the room up."

Regina nods and closes the closet door–and she can't help but imagine a group of maids sitting in the servants hall, giggling to themselves about her getting down on her hands and knees to scrub a cinder-covered hearth.

She checks quickly on the boys who have moved on from puppets to building castles out of blocks–and she leaves the door open, so that she can keep an eye on them. Belle hands her an apron and she smiles a bit awkwardly as she ties it around her skirt and then a few minutes later, the awkwardness has faded by the time they'd rolled back the carpet.

Belle takes one side of the room and Regina takes the other, they Regina teases that they'd rendezvous in the center. They talk for a little while about Ruby–and Regina can't help but smile as Belle's cheeks flush, and she admits that she is in love with her, and then she seizes the opportunity to ask for an evening off, so the two of them could have dinner one day the following week. Regina enthusiastically agrees and Belle's cheeks flush a deeper red when Regina assures her, in a low voice that boys wouldn't be able to hear, there was no reason to hurry back that night, or for her to be there the following morning.

"So," Belle says, drawing a breath and swallowing hard. "You know the new nanny?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Yes."

"Why?" Regina asks, looking up at her with wide eyes. "It's sweet."

"It's… a little embarrassing."

"Belle, it's your job to dress me. You've seen me take a bath and you've helped me put lotion on the places I can't reach myself. I think we can talk about you going on a date that… carries into the following morning."

"This is different," Belle says, grinning shyly.

"Why?"

"Because it's… me and…" She sighs. "I've never had this sort of relationship." Her cheeks flush deeper. "Until Ruby, I'd never even kissed anyone."

"Oh," Regina breathes out. "She's your first love."

Belle nods. "I never thought…" She looks away, focusing her attention to the floor. "I just never thought I'd find that. It seemed… so unlikely." Biting down on her lip, she looks up at Regina. "And it seemed even less likely I'd have someone who'd play matchmaker with me and pair me up with someone I actually wanted to be with."

"Everyone deserves to find love and happiness."

Belle nods. "Yourself included."

And then, it's Regina's turn to blush.

"So, to answer your question," she says as a soft chuckle rises into her voice. "I do know the new nanny–and she's much less a nanny than she is a tutor." Dipping her brush back into the sudsy water she looks back to Belle. "She's Daniel's aunt."

"Oh, I didn't realize."

"She's much younger than his mother, though. She's only a few years older than Daniel would've been." She grins. "Growing up, we were all friends."

"So, you kept in touch?"

"Christmas cards and the occasional letter here and there. She came to my wedding. She gave me and Daniel a book of love poems, and then she went back to her life and we went back to ours," Regina tells her. "But, when we were kids, I always looked up to her. She was older and she didn't care what anyone thought, and I, of course, cared far too much about what everyone thought, especially my mother."

"Did you grow apart?"

"Kind of," Regina nods. "I was always sort of jealous of the fact that she got to go to school. She didn't have a governess, she went to a real school where she learned things that weren't waltzes and conversational French." She grins. "She was really bright, so when she was about fourteen, she went away to a boarding school–and she learned much more than conversational French." Dipping the brush back into the water, Regina grins back at Belle. "I remember this one summer, when she came home. She'd just finished school and she seemed so sophisticated, and impressed that that coming September, she'd be going off on her own to be governess."

"That's quite a good job."

Regina nods. "It was."

"Was she happy being a governess?"

"She was," Regina says, biting down on her lip. "And she found love there."

"Ooh," Belle says, looking up as she edges closer to the center of the floor. "That sounds scandalous."

"It was."

"Did she have an epic love affair with the master of the house?"

"No," Regina says, laughing softly. "More like the lady of the house's sister."

Belle's eyes widen. "Oh."

"She recently passed away, and Mal is looking for change, I think. Something to help her move past it."

"I… I'm sure," Belle murmurs, her smile faded. "How long were they together?"

"Nine years," Regina says. "She became ill last year, and…after that, everything happened quickly." She shrugs. "And this year, the oldest girl turned seventeen. She was feeling quite out of place."

"I can only imagine…"

Regina smiles. "That's kind of why I want to make sure this room is… ready for her."

Belle nods. "I'm glad I brought up the lemons, even though the cook was scowling at me."

"Just blame it on me," Regina says, laughing softly as their eyes meet. "They might not like me or respect me, but they can't fire me."

A little grin twists onto Belle's lips as their conversation slips away from Mal and away from sad and uncomfortable topics. Belle tells her that Ruby's planning a dinner for them, and that her grandmother will be out of town visiting her brother and his family. Regina grins at that detail, but Belle goes on to explain she's making cornish hens and she's hoping to be able to bring some sort of dessert–and when Regina suggests an apple pudding, they both laugh out.

When every surface of the room has been washed with warm water and lye, then rubbed down with lemon, it smells fresh and crisp. Belle takes the linens down and Regina takes the boys to the garden to pick some flowers to be dried and crushed up and put into little sachet bags.

The boys spend too long picking flowers, finally settling on a few stems of lilacs and Roland pouts when she tells him that's all they'll need. She takes them each by the hand and Henry carries the flowers, and the three of them go back up to the nursery. Both boys watch closely as she builds up the fire–and when she reaches for the bellow, she can't help but laugh when Henry whispers to Roland that a tiny dragon lives inside of it, and when Roland balks at the idea, his scoffing is quickly halted when the flame grows bigger and Henry whispers a very pointed, _I told you so_ in his ear.

Regina shows them how to tie the stems together with twine and Belle brings them a metal grate to sit atop a pot over the fire. Carefully, they lay them out and she grins as Roland inhales the strong scent of lilac and smoke and grins contently.

"I put the linens and the blanket into the copper," Belle explains as she she rises up from the hearth, dropping a quick kiss to the top of each boy's head. "John told me there are some old quilts up in the attic, and other things that might make the room feel a bit more homey." She pauses and bites down on her lip. "He's also deeply annoyed that you and I were the ones to clean up that room."

"You don't think he'll tell Robin, do you?"

Belle's eyebrow arch. "He tells Robin when the air smells like it might rain and goes into detail each time he mends a pair of his breeches." She blinks. "He once told him that he was trying a new soap," she sighs. "I'm fairly certain he's going to tell him about this."

"Damn."

"It's wrong, you know," Belle says gently. "They shouldn't refuse–"

"So, you said there's blankets and things in the attic?" Regina asks, purposely interrupting. Belle nods and a tight smile pulls onto Regina's lips as she holds out her hands. "Do you two want to go on a little adventure?" Henry and Roland both turn and she wiggles her fingers at them, laughing as they both scramble to their feet. She takes each of them by the hand and turns toward the door, and then she looks back at Belle. "Please try to convince him not to?"

Belle sighs and nods as she and the boys disappear down the hallway. They make their way to the attic and almost instantly, the boys are running away from her and rummaging through an old trunk. She laughs softly and reminds them to be careful with the things they find, and both boys dismissively agree.

It takes her awhile, but she finds a quilt of purple and cream and brown patches. She smiles as she holds it up and just beneath it are matching pillowcases, hand-embroidered with a patch of violets on a brown vine and a a violet scalloped edge. She finds a lavender and white bottle vase with dragon design that makes her chuckle when she thinks of Mal's last name. She sets it aides and in another crate she finds an off-white pitcher and basin.

"Ooh, look at this!" Henry exclaims, lifting a music box from a trunk. "It's so pretty!"

Roland nods as he looks to it, his fingers eding over a painted pink flower on the dark cherry wood. "Yeah!"

"I wonder what it plays?" Both boys look at her, confused. "Open it." Henry holds it still as Roland works his small fingers over the lock–and then the top and their eyes widened as a soft, mechanical melody began to play. "It's a music box," she tells him.

"What's it for?" Roland asks, turning to her with curious eyes.

"It plays music," Henry tells him. "That's what it's for."

"Actually," she begins, crossing the room and stooping down between them. "You can do a lot with a music box."

"Really?"

"Really," she nods.

"Like what?"

"Well, you can put things in it," she tells him. "Like…"

"Treasure?" Roland asks. "Can you hide treasure in it?"

"If you want to."

"And you can listen to music," Henry says.

"Yes, and you can listen to music."

"Can we take it down to our room?" Roland asks, biting down on his lip. "Please?"

"Oh," she murmurs, looking into the trunk in an effort to figure out who the music box belongs to. She sighs–there's a white lace shall and a silver hairbrush with an ivory handle, a crystal jar and green and blue beaded hair pin. At the bottom of the trunk are some plain wooden boxes with the initials EL burned into them. "I don't know, sweetheart," she murmurs.

"Please?"

"M'lday," Belle calls. "Do you need any help?"

"I do, actually," Regina calls, waving to Belle from her place on the floor. "I think I've found more than I can carry."

"Is it all of these… purple things?"

Regina laughs and nods. "I hope they don't have any sentimental value to anyone. I'd hate to offend someone… or well, someone else."

Belle's eyes roll as she reaches for the pitcher and basin and as Regina rises, she feels a slight cramping in her abdomen, but before she can think anything of it, Roland is tugging at her skirt.

"What about the music box?"

"Oh," she murmurs. "Well…"

"If it's up here, I doubt it'll be missed," Belle tells her. "It's only collecting dust, forgotten about."

"I suppose that's true," she murmurs as she looks back to Roland. "You'll have to promise to be careful with it," she tells him as her eyes shift to Henry. "Both of you."

"We promise!" They both say in unison as she laughs–and once again, feels a tightening at her core.

Grimacing, she draws in a breath and a tight smile edges onto her lips–and as she takes a step toward Belle, she suddenly understands. And suddenly, she feels warm tears welling in her eyes. Belle's smile fades and she shakes her head, reaching for the blanket and pillow cases and the vase. She lets the boys go ahead of them, reminding Roland to hold onto the music box tightly, and as they pass down the narrow stairs, Belle looks to her with concern.

"Are you alright, m'lady?"

She nods. "I am."

"You're sure?"

Swallowing hard, Regina nods. "I just… um… I got a little ahead of myself and…" She laughs and shrugs. "It's nothing though."

"You're positive? You suddenly look pale."

She nods. "Absolutely."

Together, they walk down the narrow stairs and join the boys in the nursery–and a smile pulls onto her lips as she watches them try to pick a spot for their new music box. It's silly to be upset, she reminds herself–after all, this should come as a relief to her.

Should, she thinks.

"Belle, would you mind making up the bed and keeping an eye on the boys?"

Belle looks at her with wide eyes. "Are you sure–"

"Yes," she nods. "I just need to run to my room for a minute."

"Can I–"

"No," she cuts in, shaking her head. "I'm fine. I promise."

Belle nods and she watches as she tucks the corner of a clean linen sheet on the bed–and she lets out a shallow breath as she exits the nursery, once more reminding herself that she should be relieved. Quickly, she closes herself into her room and crosses it, entering the small dressing room attached to it. She presses her eyes closed as she reaches for a box of cotton cloths and hikes up her skirt, tugging at her shift and bloomer.

And swallowing hard, she's faced with the reality that she's not pregnant–and the thing she didn't want to happen isn't happening, and again, she reminds herself that this is a good thing and she doesn't have to worry about it anymore.

Sniffing back her tears, she tugs her bloomers back up and adjusts her shift before dropping down her skirt and reaching for the basin to rinse her hands. Swallowing the lump at the back of her throat, she smooths her hands over her skirt and takes a breath, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as she leaves the dressing room–and when she opens the door, Zelena Greene is making her way down the hall.

"Regina, hello," she says a nearly sing-song voice. "It's been a long time."

"It has."

"Richard said I could come up and tidy myself."

"Oh?"

"I didn't anticipate staying for dinner, but he assures me that evening meals are rather casual around here."

Her jaw tightens at the thought of sitting across from Zelena for the duration of a meal. "I suppose that's true."

A soft laugh escapes Zelena and her eyes slowly linger, over Regina–and no doubt, taking in the dirty apron around her waist and likely able to smell the lemon and the lye. "We're you… scrubbing floors?"

"A friend is coming to stay. I wanted to prepare her room."

Zelena laughs. "Even the maids around here know you're not worthy of this position."

Regina's jaw tenses. "I wanted to be the one to do it."

"I'm sure, " she nods. "But I suppose you've done a lot worse on your knees."

Her eyes widen and her stomach drops. "Zelena, you… don't…"

"Don't I, though?" Zelena laughs and steps forward. "You don't deserve to be the lady of this house," she tells her. "You're hardly a lady." Regina turns, watching as she steps past her, her stomach in knots and once again, her tears threatening to fall. "But if I have anything to say about it, you won't be for much longer."

She laughs out and leaves her there, standing there alone in the middle of the hall, her hands and jaw trembling as she's left to wonder what her father-in-law knows and whether or not it's too late to confess her sins to Robin–because the only thing worse than telling him would be to have Zelena do it.

He's in a hurry as he comes into their bedroom, tugging at his cufflinks and completely aware that he's running late. Somehow he managed to get into the house and upstairs without his father noticing–and that was either a blessing or a pending curse. He shuts the door as his fingers work over the buttons of his vest, and as he turns to face the interior of the room, he stops.

Regina is there, lying on the bed with her back to him–and from the looks of it, she's not dressed for dinner. He hears a little sniffle escape her and his brow furrows at the maid's apron draped at the foot of the bed, and he feels his heart sink.

"Regina?'

"Mm?"

"Regina, what's the matter?" He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" She draws in a breath as he places his hand on her hip. "Regina…"

"I'm fine."

"Somehow, I don't believe you." He expects her to grin, but she doesn't. Instead, she only turns her face into the pillow and lets out a shaky breath. "Hey, whatever it is… you can tell me."

For a moment, she doesn't reply–but then she nods and pulls herself up. Her eyes are red and puffy and cheeks are stained from her tears, and all he wants to do is pull her close to him and hold her until whatever's hurting her fades away. His lips part, ready to speak again, but she shakes her head and silences him.

"You're right," she says, her jaw trembling. "I need to tell you."

He blinks. "What's–"

"Zelena's here."

"Did she–"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is… what I did."

Her eyes press closed and tears seep from the sides–and she looks so tormented, like whatever she's about to say is tearing her apart. Reaching for her, he draws her in, holding her in a tight embrace. One hand cups the back of her head and the other the spot between her shoulder blades. "I don't care," he murmurs. "I don't care what you did."

"But you–"

"Whatever it is, it's not going to change anything." She pulls back, blinking away her tears and a soft smile that he hopes is comforting edges onto his lips. "I meant it when I told you that you were entitled to your secrets."

"But–"

"I love you," he cuts in as he reaches out and wipes away her tears with his thumbs. "I've thought a hundred different scenarios, things that you might tell me, things that could be this secret, and Regina, not a single one of them would change the fact that I love you."

"You seem awfully sure."

"I am," he tells her as he shrugs his shoulders. "So, whatever Zelena thinks she's holding over you, whatever terrible, awful thing you think you did… just… let it go."

"Robin," she murmurs as her eyes press closed. "You might think–"

"I know it, Regina," he says. "I don't think it. I know it." A little laugh escapes him as her eyes open. "You know, I had lunch with your father today and he and I were talking and… somewhere in the middle of it, I found myself thinking that everything happens for a reason."

"You really believe that?"

"I do," he says as his hands slide down her arms. "I really, truly do. And that means that everything we did, every hardship we endured, every mistake we made, every wonderful and inexplicable thing that happened– _everything_ –brought us to this point. It brought us together."

"But what if some mistakes–"

"Regina," he cuts in, shaking his head. "You are a bright and thoughtful woman. You're a fantastic mother and you have such a capacity to love. I am so lucky that you agreed to marry me because…" a little laugh escapes him, "I didn't think I could be this happy again. I didn't think my son would grow up with a mother and I certainly never expected to find someone I couldn't wait to see each morning." Shaking his head, he watches as she bites down on her lip. "And there isn't a chance in hell, that I'd ever throw that away. Especially not over something that's already done and over."

"You… you really don't want to know."

"Not if it's going to tear you up like this." He shrugs. "If you want to tell me, go ahead. If you think it'll make you feel better, I am all ears. But if it's going to be painful or something you'd rather just forget, then I don't want you to put yourself through reliving it just to satisfy my curiosity."

Taking a breath, she nods. "I just… I don't think I could stand for you to look at me differently, for you to know–"

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her forehead as her voice fades. "I love you."

Nodding, she draws in a breath and pulls back a little, batting away her tears. "There's, um… something else I need to tell you." She sighs and her eyes roll. "I mean, you'd figure it out eventually, but… I just…" She stops and forces a smile as tears again fill her eyes. "I'm not pregnant."

He blinks and his lips part, and he feels his chest tighten. "Did you… think that… you…I thought…"

"I don't know," she confesses. "I just… that night at the lodge, we didn't stop before you…" Her voice trails off and her eyes press closed as her hand presses to her forehead. "I didn't want it to happen, so I thought that it probably did and then…" Her hand falls away from her face. "I just kind of got used to the idea."

"But you're not."

"No."

"And you know that for sure?"

He watches as a faint grin tugs up from the corner of her mouth and she nods. "I am."

"But you wanted to be?"

"No," she sighs, shaking her head. "I didn't. Or, at least I didn't think I did."

"And now…"

Her grin fades. "I still don't think I want to be."

"Oh…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says, shaking his head as he takes in a breath. "This isn't something you have to want."

"But it's something you want and when I thought that I might be, I… didn't exactly not want it." She bites down on her lip as their eyes meet, a bashful little smile returns to her face. "I got ahead of myself, and I started to think about what it'd be like to have a baby with you and–"

"You thought about that?"

She nods. "I know I'm not making much sense right, but… I just figured that if it happened then there wasn't much I could do other than accept it and… be happy about it."

"You know, this… wasn't our only chance."

"I know."

"And I'm not saying we should try again right now, or even in the next year, but we've years for you to change your mind." He grins. "Or not change your mind."

She nods. "We said we'd revisit it eventually."

"Now isn't the time though."

"No," she murmurs. "It's not, but I think… one day I am going want that for us."

A soft smile pulls onto his lips and he feels his breath catch in his chest, he leans in and presses a soft and unassuming kiss to her lips–and as he does, he feels her smile. His chest flutters and he can't help but smile as he pulls away, once more murmurs that he loves her as he turns back and lays back against the pillows on their bed.

"You know," he begins. "I don't really feel like eating dinner in the dining room with my father, and I especially don't want to to eat dinner with Zelena Greene."

"No?"

"No," he says, reaching for her hand. "Where are the boys?"

"Belle took them for a walk in the garden. I was upset and…" She sighs. "I didn't want them to see it."

He nods, rubbing his thumb against her wrist. "So, how about we lay here for a little while. You can tell me all about the baby we'll maybe one day have and then when Belle brings the boys back inside, we'll go into the nursery and have some food sent up to the room, and we'll have a little picnic with our sons."

"That sounds… really nice."

"Doesn't it."

"Much nicer than the alternative."

"I've just got one rule."

"Oh?"

"No more tears tonight."

Grinning, she draws in a breath and lays down beside him, cuddling into him as he wraps his arm around her. "I think I agree to that."

"Good," he murmurs softly and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm glad to hear that."

Nodding, she cuddles a little closer and he feels her slowly exhale as her fingers slide slowly and absently over his chest. "We'd have had another boy," she tells him. "A boy because I know how to raise boys, and I really like the ones we're raising."

"Really? Another boy? I always thought we'd have a girl."

"Well, the first one will be a boy."

His brows arch. "The first one?"

She nods and he feels his throat tightening. "He'd have my dark hair and your blue eyes and dimples and," she sighs contently as she grins up at him. "Our son would be such a beautiful boy."

Swallowing he nods, and again leans in to kiss the top of her head, his chest aching as he allows himself to envision what it'd be like to hold that baby in the crook of his arm, to hold her close to him as they counted the boy's fingers and toes and feel deeper and deeper in love with him with every passing moment–and as she continues on, sharing a dream that feels so tangible he finds himself breaking his own rule as tears well in his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

Since they married, they'd met weekly in Robin's office.

At first she'd been skeptical and then she'd assumed that he was merely going through the motions of involving her in the estate–and for those first months, it was all about going over how the estate ran. He showed her ledgers and receipts, records of the tenants and their crops, and a bit awkwardly showed her the records her father's former agent had dropped off to him when the estates had merged.

There were certainly differences, and admittedly, Henry had not been adept at business or managing the estate's fortune. But he'd been a benevolent landlord–much more so than Richard had ever been–and Robin felt there was something for him to learn. He wasn't cold the way his father was and he cared about his tenants, and those who trusted him and had taken the time to get to know him when he'd taken the reins on this end of the estate's business from his father, saw the stark differences between the two. Early on, he'd told Regina of his intent of her helping him to run the estate, that he wanted her to be his partner as much as his wife and her first obligation in that role had been to help him establish relationships with her father's former tenants–and she'd done so almost effortlessly.

Though he never said it, he'd been worried about this–or at least she imagined that he was. While the daughter of their former landlord should have been a comfort, there'd been rumors about her for years, and most of the rumors held at least a degree of truth. But to their surprise, her presence had been a comfort to them and there'd been little that would change. And of course, as they got to know Robin, those initial feelings of assurance proved trustworthy.

It'd been in one of those moments, when they'd been traveling between farms and talking about grain production, that she'd felt those first flickers of adoration. She liked watching him work and it showed her that the softness and the patience that he showed her wasn't all a part of some ruse. He kept his word and he didn't make empty promises, the more she saw of that in regards to the tenants in town and on the surrounding farms, the more comfortable she was trusting the promises that he made to her.

She's not sure, exactly, when it was that she fell in love with him, though.

It'd been somewhere between those meetings in his office that seemed so insignificant at the time to watching him with the boys to those moments of patience and acceptance that he showed her–and little by little, she'd found herself trusting him, enjoying his company, and finally loving him.

She'd kept it all to herself and she'd barely even allowed herself to acknowledge those feelings until there was no denying them–and then, all she could think of was how heartbroken and devastated she'd be if she lost what they had. And that fear had been as all consuming as the love she felt for him.

So, she held onto what she could–to her secrets and her feelings–and told herself that might soften the inevitable blow…

"What?" she asks, looking up from the metal lock box where she'd been counting bank notes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Robin shrugs. "How is it that I'm looking at you?"

She blinks. "Like you've just seen a fumbling puppy running toward you and you're waiting to squeeze it and let it lick your face."

At that he laughs out, and she can't help but grin. "Well, you're certainly not fumbling with anything and though I'm not sure I want to squeeze you, exactly, I wouldn't mind letting you lick my face."

Her eyes roll as she tucks the bank notes into an envelope and hands it to him. "It's all there, even the deposit slip."

Taking it from her, he nods. "I'll take it into town this afternoon." She nods as he tucks it into the inner pocket of his coat. "I've got to pick up a new pair of trousers, too," he tells her. "Do you want to come along?"

"No," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I want to check in on the boys and order up their lunch and–"

"We have a nanny," he cuts in. "That's all part of her job."

"I know," she replies, bristling a little. "And I trust her completely."

"Then let her do her job and come with me."

"No matter how much I trust Mal and as much as the boys enjoy spending time with her, I still won't allow anyone else to raise them," she says, feeling her shoulder tense slightly. "I like having lunch with them and letting them tell me all about their morning."

Robin nods, pulling himself out of the chair across from her and leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. "I just wanted to be sure." 

"Roland can count to ten in German, you know."

He grins. "I do know and I must say, I'm quite impressed."

Regina nods. "Somehow Mal managed to convince them that German is the language of dragons and–"

"Ahhh," he chuckles, reaching for the lock box and putting it back into the filing cabinet. "Now it makes sense."

"He struggles with five though…"

Robin grins as he turns back to her. "I've noticed that, too."

"It's the umlaut."

"And missing teeth."

"Yes," Robin says as she turns her chair to face him. "We could bring them."

"They have a music lesson after lunch and I'm fairly certain it'd be unfair to tempt them with raspberry cordial and ice cream when they're supposed to be learning to play Bach."

"They could take a day off."

Her brow arches, "And will you be telling Mal that?"

Chuckling softly, he leans against the desk. "No."

"Not in the mood for a lecture?"

"No, and after the verbal lashing she gave my father when he questioned why the boys were learning German instead of French, I don't think I'll be questioning her methods… ever."

"She's not as intimidating as she seems."

"I'll take your word on that," he laughs. "Though it was sort of fun watching my father squirm and though I'm not entirely sure of its meaning, I think vermaledeiter stinkstiefel might be my new favorite nickname for my father."

"Mine, too," Regina laughs, remembering how red-faced and flustered Richard had gotten when Mal coolly wielded the insult in a tongue he didn't understand as she stared him down with hard eyes when he'd dared to question the curriculum choices that she'd had chosen for the boys' first lessons. Of course, it'd been obvious that he wasn't questioning anything about Henry's education and his concern laid with what Roland would be learning in his most formative years. Mal ignored the distinction and reminded him that while he might be the patriarch of the household, he was in no way a parent to either boy and if anyone had a problem with her choices, he needed to take up the matter with Robin or Regina–and until they voiced concern, nothing would be changed.

Both she and Robin had stood there with slack mouths and wide eyes as Richard bristled and stormed out; all the while, Mal stood there, calm and collected, and it wasn't until Richard was out of view that she rolled her eyes and muttered the insult beneath her breath–then, a moment later, her focus returned to the boys' first piano lesson as if nothing had happened.

"Regardless of the fact that I find her both fascinating and terrifying, the boys seem to like her."

"They do."

"And I like that you have a friend."

"I like that, too," she admits as a little grin pulls onto her lips. "It's nice to have that, to have someone in my corner who I don't have to worry will gossip about me down in the servant's hall or–"

"Belle doesn't do that."

"I know," she's quick to say. "But we're paying Belle to be my confidant."

"We're paying Mal, too."

"I know," she says again, this time slower as she sighs. "But it's different. I've known her since I was a girl, and it's nice to have someone in my corner."

"You have me in your corner."

A grin pulls onto her lips. "I know."

"As long as you know," he tells her, smiling sweetly as his blue eyes shine–and for a second, she considers asking him to delay his venture into town until after lunch so that she can spend a little time with their sons and accompany him–but then, a moment later, she thinks better of it. "I should go."

"You should," she agrees. "And I should start walking back up to the house." Pushing himself away from the desk, he leans in to press a kiss to her cheek, then a bit reluctantly, he pulls back. "Will you be home by tea?"

"I'm hoping."

She nods and takes a breath as he pulls back. "She likes you, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Mal."

"She does?" She can't help but laugh as he brightens, looking so much like Roland when he's praised. "I couldn't really tell."

"She was sizing you up for a few days, but she's given you her stamp of approval."

She grins, remembering the morning before when she'd gone to the nursery to order the boys' breakfast. She's been surprised to find them fully dressed with their shoes on and their hair combed, sitting at the little table by the fireplace. She'd watched as Mal explained the difference between a saucer and plate and showed them how to fold their napkins–and when she realized Regina was standing there, she laughed and explained that she was well aware she was no longer the governess for three little girls, but felt it was important, even for boys, to learn proper table manners. Regina nodded in agreement, remembering a dinner party that her mother had dragged her to when she was only ten–and she can still remember the way she stared at a young Victor Whale as he gnawed on a chicken leg and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and how dirty his fingernails had been. It'd been then that she'd deemed him a savage of a boy and when she was thirteen, she'd refused to dance with him at another party, complaining that he'd probably never washed his hands.

Once the boys' breakfast was brought up and cut into pieces and their tea was poured, Mal looked to Regina, smiling a bit awkwardly as she thanked her for bringing her to Sherwood. The change of pace was nice and the boys were spirited enough to let her think of little else during the day–and then she confessed that she'd been worried about her, and that, for a lot of reasons, her letter and job offer had been a very pleasant surprise.

Since her marriage to Robin, she hadn't written to Mal. Over the years, they'd kept in contact, trading letters and cards, and in her last letter, she'd complained about her pending marriage to a man who obviously considered her chattel–and, once she'd settled into her new life, it was awkward. As much as Mal had been her friend, she was also Daniel's aunt, and blood was often a stronger connection than friendship–and when Mal arrived at Sherwood, though she was kind to Robin, she was clearly skeptical. But that morning, as they stood together in the nursery she admitted that she liked Robin; he was good man and a good father, and most importantly to her, he was a good husband.

"It doesn't make me less afraid of her," Robin says, laughing softly and shrugs. "I'm afraid that if I cross her, she'll send me to bed without dinner or make me write an apology essay, and she'll stand over my shoulder as I do it."

"I'd never allow that."

He grins, and once again, he leans in and kisses her. It's only a soft peck on the cheek, but still, it makes her heart flutter. "Well, I'm glad to have you in my corner, then."

"I'm glad to be in your corner, too."

He nods and grabs his jacket, and as he does, something about his expression changes. "Oh," he murmurs. "I've been meaning to ask you about something, and I probably should do it before I go into town."

"Oh?"

"Henry's birthday is coming up."

"In two days," she nods.

"We haven't really made plans for that."

She nods, biting down on her lip. Since her son's first birthday, it's always been a special day–a day that was celebrated in private. For those first years, it'd been difficult to do much else. She'd always scrapped together enough money for a simple present and she always baked a little cake for him. After Daniel's death, the day became even more exclusive–no one else had ever participated in the celebration, and she hadn't quite thought about how that might change this year.

"I was hoping, we… could do something special," he says. "After all, a boy only turns seven once."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Seven isn't exactly a pivotal age."

"I know, but…"

"You've already planned something, haven't you?"

Robin nods. "I know I should have talked to you about it first, but it just sort of… fell into place, and I couldn't resist." He shrugs a bit awkwardly as his eyes narrow. "It's nothing that can't be undone if you don't approve, but this is the first birthday I've had with him and I wanted to make it a memorable one." He pauses and grins, his eyes filling with hopeful excitement. "Your father approved of the idea."

"You spoke to my father about it?" 

"Well, he was there and–" He stops. "I can cancel it. It's not–"

"No," she cuts in, shaking her head. "It's selfish of me to want to keep this day a private affair for just me and him, and I'm sure he'll love whatever you've planned."

"I really think he will."

For a moment, an awkward silence falls between them–and she waits for the details she only assumed would follow.

"Do I get to know what you're planning?"

"I… kind of wanted it to be a secret."

"Oh…"

"We'll have to be up early though, and you'll need to wear something comfortable."

Her brow furrows and her curiosity is piqued. "Why?"

"Well, there's a fair amount of travel involved and–"

"You're taking us somewhere?"

"Not far."

"On the property?"

He shrugs and his grin turns coy. "Perhaps."

"Tell me!" she demands, laughing as she feels a little exciting bubbling up within herself. "Please?"

"I told you," he says. "It's a secret." 

"Robin!" He only shrugs and grins smugly as her eyes widen. "Tell me!"

"I can't do that, M'lady," he says, a chuckling rising up behind his words. "And don't bother to ask your father about it. I swore him to secrecy."

Laughing out, he shakes his head and presses a fleeting kiss to her lips before pulling back and grabbing his hat from the desk–and a moment later, he's gone. From the window, she watches as he mounts his horse and rides off on the path towards town–and as curious as she is and annoyed as she feels that he won't tell her what he's planned, more than anything she feels grateful that her son will grow up with such a kind-hearted and loving man.

Robin wakes them all up before the sun, and she doesn't have the heart to call Belle to dress her.

She puts on an old and simple cream muslin dress, embroidered with tiny little rosebuds, before quickly pinning up her hair. She chooses a rose-colored ribbon to keep her hair from falling to her face and smooths lotion over her hands before retreating down the hall to the nursery where the boys are still soundly sleeping.

She smiles a bit guilty as she wakes them, grinning as they blink groggily at her as they get out of their beds. She pulls out their clothes and lays them on their beds, and she can't help but laugh when Roland falls back asleep while putting on his breeches. To her surprise, Henry doesn't connect the early rising to his birthday.

Robin opens the door for them and lifts each boy into the carriage, and then offers her his hand, helping her up onto the step and into her seat before climbing in and sitting down across from her. He grins at her, watching as both boys cuddle into each of her sides, their arms and legs draped over her lap and torso. She grins back as she rests her head atop Henry's and strokes Roland's arm, and as tired as she is, she won't let herself be lulled to sleep by the methodical sound of the horse's hooves tapping on the ground beneath them.

Her eyes are heavy as she watches the sun come up over the trees, watching as the sky turns pink and the whole world seems to brighten–and when she looks to Robin to comment about the sunrise, she finds that he's not at all paying attention to it, instead he's watching her and their boys. Her cheeks flush and his grin brightens as their eyes meet and she feels a soft fluttering in her chest as her cheeks warm.

He looks handsome, she finds herself thinking as her eyes slip away from his. He's wearing a pair of tan breeches that come to the bottom of his knees and a pair of brown leather riding boots; beneath a forest-green vest is a blousy, loosely fitted white shirt and across his lap is a jacket that matches his vest. And she's never quite realized the way that particular shade of green brings out the blue in his eyes.

"We'll be there soon," he murmurs, forcing her eyes back up to his. "Probably in another half an hour."

"And you still won't tell me where we're going."

A grin pulls onto his lips. "The ruins of an old abbey."

"Ruins," she says flatly, blinking a few times as she tries to figure out what else he might have said. "You got us all up before the sun to go and look at a dilapidated abbey?"

"Well, not exactly," he says, his smiling growing coy. "We won't be looking at them."

"Then what will we be doing?"

A soft chuckle escapes him as his eyes slide from her to Henry. "It'll be more like a game of Capture the Flag with a Henry-inspired twist." He grins as he looks back to her. "And that's all I'll tell you."

"They're asleep. They won't–"

"No."

"Robin."

"No."

Sighing, she rolls her eyes and looks to the window, watching as the sky continues to lighten–and through the glass, she can see him grinning.

Finally, the carriage pulls up to an overgrown path littered with gravel. She wakes the boys with gentle tickles and soft kisses, and by the time the carriage comes to a stop, Henry is perched at the window. She hears him gasp as she tries to wake Roland, and when she looks up, her mouth falls open.

Just as Robin said, they're stopped in front of the ruins of an old abbey. To the left is a shallow-looking river that winds around it and a stone bridge extends from the gravel road to what she imagines was once a grand entrance. All around it pieces of stone that once were the base of pillars come up to the earth, and just beyond them is a massive stone structure that's fairly intact. She can easily see the vaulted arches leading into what once were rooms, long corridors that led to different parts of the abbey, and warm light shines through the glassless windows. It's not hard to picture the abbey in its heyday centuries ago, bustling with busy monks–and she laughs to herself as she wonders what those monks would have thought about the blue and red and green ribbons, pennants and flags that now adorn the ruins.

"Did you… do all of this?" She asks, looking to Robin. "You… decorated it and…" Her voice fades as he nods, smiling brightly as she looks from him back to the ruins of the abbey. "This is… incredible."

"Come on," he says, pushing open the carriage door as he reaches for Henry's hand. "Let's go see it up close."

Robin lifts Roland onto his hip as he climbs out of the carriage and Regina's eyes shift to Henry as Robin takes his hand again, leading him toward the ruins.

Henry's hazel eyes are wide and his lips are parted, and he's staring at the ruins with complete and utter amazement, and then slowly, he looks to Robin. His eyes are full of questions that he can't find words to voice, and she finds herself chuckling softly as a bright smile pulls across his lips. Robin laughs, too, as he sets Roland down beside Henry and jogs around the carriage, pulling open a trunk that's attached to the back. Both boys watch carefully as he tugs at the leather straps–and she can't help but smile as Henry gasps, watching as Robin pulls out two wooden swords.

"Wow," he breathes out as Robin hands one to him and then the other to Roland, and then, again, reaching into the trunk he pulls out two wooden shields and hands one to each of the boys. Her throat tightens as Henry looks down at the shield, rubbing his fingers over the crest painted on the front–and again, he looks up at Robin with wide eyes and a broad grin, once more unable to formulate words.

"Alright, lads," Robin calls out as he trudges toward the ruins. "You've been brought here today on a special mission at the bequest of his Majesty, the King." Regina laughs softly as Robin looks seriously between the boys, watching as their happy expressions turn somber. "A magical dragon has been captured and is being held captive somewhere in the ruins of this monastery. Your mission is to find him, free him… and to take him home and give him lots of cuddles."

At that, Regina giggles–but both Henry and Roland remain serious.

"Henry, as the eldest, you are in charge of this mission," Robin says–and Regina grins as Henry nods. "Roland, your job is to help Henry slash the ribbons and pull down the pennants."

Roland nods, "I'm good at making messes."

"That's why I chose you for this mission."

"What happens if we don't find the dragon?" Henry asks, chewing at his lip as he looks between Robin and the ruins. "What if–"

"You'll find him," Robin says, with a certain nod. "I know you will."

Henry grins. "And what happens when we find him?"

"We'll take him for a picnic and a swim to celebrate."

"Swimming!?" Henry asks, his eyes widening as he wriggles. "Really?"

Robin points to the little brook, "We'll make an adventure figuring out where that leads." He looks to Regina and flashes a smile and a wink, and then turns back to the boys as his expression turns serious again. "Are you ready?"

"Yes!"

Regina laughs out again as both boys shout and clap, bouncing as they brandish their swords and shields–and then next thing she knows, they're running toward the ruins and swinging their swords to slash through a curtain of ribbon hanging down from the arched entryway.

It's only when Robin turns to her, smiling brightly as he hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her up against him, that she realizes her eyes are teary.

"So, what do you think?"

"I… I can't even put into words what I'm thinking."

"Good thoughts, though?"

"The best," she murmurs back as she presses herself closer and kisses him. "Thank you," she whispers as she pulls away. "I… really don't know how to thank you for–"

"You don't have to."

"Robin, I can't believe you did all of this."

"It was fun."

"How did you–" She stops, shaking her head as she looks to the ruins. "When did you–"

A sly grin pulls onto his lips. "I'm very glad you chose not to come into town with me the other day."

Her eyes widen. "What would you have done if I agreed to come along?"

He shrugs. "I don't really know."

"Then why did you ask?" She laughs. "If you didn't want me–"

"I always want you around," he says, cutting in and grinning as he reaches for her hand. "Now, come on," he says, taking a few steps back and then tugging her toward him. "Let's go explore!"

She laughs as Robin pulls her into the ruins of the abbey, and for a moment, she takes a moment just to marvel at the architecture. The moment doesn't last for very long and as she's contemplating what life was like for the monks who lived here centuries ago, and imagining how incredible the abbey must have been fully intact and in its glory, Robin reaches for her, sweeping her off her feet and spinning her around until she's dizzy and laughing–and then, just as the world stops spinning, he pulls the ribbon from her hair, goading her into chasing him.

They spend the next couple of hours playing in the ruins, laughing and running as they explore. Every now and then, the boys rush past them, slashing their swords through the ribbons as they search for the dragon–and every now and then, they find themselves stopping to watch them play.

Finally, Henry yells out that he's found the dragon–and she and Robin both dart toward his voice. Her eyes fill with tears as he drops down his sword and shield as he enters what was once a tabernacle. On top of the the altar sits a stuffed red dragon–and Henry walks slowly toward him, as if not to startle him. He has yellow and green spikes atop his head and down his back and a collection of them at the tip of his tail–and as scary as he might look to a child, his face his embroidered with kind eyes and a smile.

"Where did you–"

"Granny Lucas made it."

"That's… so sweet."

"He seems to like it."

"He loves it," Regina says as her voice cracks and catches at the back of her throat. "He absolutely loves it."

A bow sits on top of the dragon's head and ribbons stream down around him. Slowly, Henry pulls off the ribbons and plucks the bow off of his head, then carefully lifts the dragon from the altar–and when he looks back at them, smiling widely, before looking back at the dragon that's half his size, Regina feels warm tears once again filling her eyes.

"What are you going to name him?" Robin asks, scooping Roland up onto his hip as he moves toward Henry. "If you're going to have a dragon, he should have a name."

Henry nods, chewing at his bottom lip. "Igor," he decides.

"Igor?"

"Yeah," Henry nods, looking back at Robin. "That seems like a good name for a dragon."

"Indeed, it is." Clearing his throat, Robin stoops down and picks up Henry's sword–and then, after pressing a quick kiss to Roland's cheek, he sets him down and pushes him toward her. She smiles as Roland leans back against her legs, and she watches as Robin walks over to Henry. Henry looks up at him, slowly rising to his feet as Robin grins. "It appears your mission has been quite a success."

"Yes," Henry nods. "It has been."

"The King will be pleased," Robin says as Henry beams. "He told me that if your mission was successful you should be properly rewarded."

"With more than a dragon?"

Robin nods. "With more than a dragon," he says, quickly glancing at Regina, before looking back to Henry and lifting up the wooden sword. "Henry, please kneel."

Henry nods, his expression serious as he gets down on one knee and looks expectantly up at Robin–and she can see Robin struggling against the urge to smile. "I dub thee, Knight," Robin says, his voice elevating and echoing, "Sir Henry, Protector of the Dragons. Arise, Sir."

Smiling broadly, Henry scrambles to his feet–and still, his face remains serious. But Robin smiles as he reaches for him, lifting him up and holding him against his chest as he presses a quick kiss to his cheek and wishes him a happy birthday.

Robin grabs onto Henry's dragon and she takes Roland out of the abbey's ruins–and it's only then that she realizes the carriage is gone, and only the horses remain. Attached to each side of Robin's horse are two baskets which she assumes are packed with the promised picnic lunch. She mounts Rocinante and then Robin lifts Henry onto the horse, situating him in front of her; then he climbs onto his own horse, pulling Roland up with him and they set out, following the brook. Soon, the brook turns to a river and the river turns to a pond, and there, they decide to stop for their picnic.

She spreads out a blanket as Robin unpacks their lunch, and they spend the rest of the morning sprawled out on the blanket eating sourdough bread and cheese, snacking on watermelon and drinking limeade–and for them, Robin adds a little champagne to the drink. Finally, the boys decide that it's time to swim, and within minutes of asking permission, they're splashing around in the pond in their pantaloons.

"I'm envious of them," Regina admits, wiping her brow as she looks up at the hot summer sun hovering above them as she folds the boys' discarded clothes. "The water looks so… cool."

Robin laughs. "We could join them."

Her brow creases. "No…"

"Why not?"

"It'd hardly be appropriate for me to strip down to my–"

"No one says you'd have to be naked."

"I wasn't suggesting that," she says, rolling her eyes. "But it wouldn't be–"

Robin scoffs, interrupting her. "First of all," he says, eyeing her as his brow arches. "I've seen you dress and undress, and I happen to know you've got at least three layers of… whatever you wear underneath that dress."

"Thin layers."

"I know," he says as a sly grin edges onto his lips. "That's my favorite part."

Again, her eyes roll. "Is there a point you're trying to make?"

"You could swim."

"We just discussed how thin–"

"Swim in your dress."

Her eyes widen a little. "I don't think that's the best idea. What if someone saw? I don't think–"

"Stop thinking."

Her brows arch. "What?"

"Regina, it's hot. You want to swim and we're the only people around here. Who's going to see?"

"Robin, that's–" Her voice halts as he leans forward and slips one arm around her back and the other beneath her knee. "What are you doing!?"

"Taking you swimming."

"Robin, that's–"

She laughs out as he lifts her up and though she wants to protest, she can't seem to formulate the words to do so. All she can do is laugh. As they reach the bank, she holds her breath as Robin leaps into the pond, taking her with him as he plunges into the water.

Henry and Roland both laugh out and cheer as they come up to the surface of the water–and as much as she wants to be annoyed, she can't find it within herself to feel anything other than happiness as she floats in the warm water.

Regina grins down at Henry as he leans against her chest, tightly holding onto his dragon as the horse walks slowly back toward Sherwood.

The boys are both exhausted and in need of a nap, and when they arrive at the front of Sherwood, Mal is waiting for them. She smiles warmly as she takes Roland from Robin and then helps Henry down from Rocinante, and Regina laughs softly as Henry wraps his arms around Igor, awkwardly carrying him into the house–and then, as the door closes, she catches a glimpse of Richard in the window. His eyes are narrow and he's wearing a scowl, and it's clear that he disapproves of her damp and disheveled state. Bristling, she kicks gently at Rocinante's sides and avoids eye-contact as she follows Robin to the stables.

By the time they reach the stables, she's all but forgotten about her father-in-law. They reach the stables and Robin jumps down from his horse, quickly offering her his hand. She grins as she takes it, letting him pull her down, and as her feet touch the ground, he pulls her up against him.

"Today was pretty incredible," he says, grinning down at her.

"It was," she agrees. "Thank to you."

"It was noth–"

"Don't say it was nothing," she cuts in, her voice rising over his as her expression turns serious. "Henry's going to remember this day for the rest of his life. What you did for him was so sweet."

He shrugs as a grin pulls onto his lips. "Well, I missed six of his birthdays and…" He laughs softly, and for a moment, he get lost in a memory. "Did you see his face when he found the dragon?"

She nods and laughs softly, "I did."

"I really love… how much you love him."

She bites down on her lip as his brow arches. "I do love Henry, but that's not what you were going to say."

"It is…"

"It wasn't," he says, chuckling softly as his fingers knead at her hip. "You were going to say that you love me."

Her eyes widen and her breath catches in her throat, and suddenly it's hard to swallow. Her cheeks flush as she looks away from him, shaking her head as as she tries to laugh. She knows it silly not to say it or to expect something to change because of it, and she knows that he deserves to hear it. But still, somehow, it feels like such a risk.

Robin laughs again as his hand slips to the small of her back and as their eyes meet, she bites down on her lip, wanting to say it.

"Go on, then. Tell me," he murmurs, chuckling softly as his as his and brushes against her cheek, ghosting over her jaw as he tucks an unruly curl behind her ear. "Tell me you don't love me."

She blinks at him and lets out a shaky breath–and then, she feels herself nodding. "Of course I do," she says, her voice hoarse and barely audible. "Of course, I love you," she continues, as slow smile edges on her lips. "How could I not?"

"I love you, too," he says unnecessarily, leaning in and pecking her lips. "And it's nice to hear you say it, fully knowing that I'm conscious," he laughs, his eyes narrowing as hers widen. "Or while you're conscious."

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"You've admitted your feelings a few times," he tells her as her cheeks warm. "Once when you were delirious with a fever, another time when you thought I was asleep, sometimes while you're asleep…" He shrugs as she presses her eyes closed. "But this declaration is my favorite."

"Why?" she asks, grimacing as she looks up at him.

"Because, though you needed a little gentle prodding, I know that you mean it."

"I do mean it," she says as she draws in a breath and then slowly releases it, her head spinning a little at the thought of having admitted her feelings without realizing it, and that he'd allowed her to believe he didn't know how she felt. "I've loved you for awhile now. Longer than you know and–" She stops, suddenly feeling both embarrassed and relieved, and she's not sure what else to say.

He doesn't let go of her and his hand slide down over the back of her skirt as he draws her closer. Her hands slide up over his shoulders and she leans up onto the tips of her toes, brushing her lips over his. He grins and her tongue traces over his bottom lip where her own lips had just been–and as his eyes meet hers, she feels her heart begin to beat a little faster.

She kisses him–slowly and softly, at first–as her arms link around his neck and his fold around her. He lifts her up and turns them both toward the bales of hay behind them and as he sits down, she pulls back just long enough to gather up her skirt and shift herself over him so that she's straddling his lap. He grins as she leans back in, pushing her hands up over his cheeks as she leans back in. She nips gently at his bottom lip, laughing softly as their eyes meet–and then, a moment later, he pushes forward, catching her lips between his and kissing her as his hand slips to the back of her neck.

Her heart beats faster and faster, and finally, she breaks the kiss, her breath ragged as she leans her forehead against his. He grins as his lips slide across her jaw, and as her head falls back, his lips slide down her throat. She grins as she shifs herself on his lap and she can feel how hard he is–and it occurs to her that she should pull away.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she lifts her head back up and shifts herself again, sitting up as she runs her fingers through his hair. Her hands fall to his cheeks and she draws him to her, kissing him once more before she slides off of his lap and settles herself in front of him.

Her heart beats a little faster as she looks up at him, watching as a slow grin edges onto his lips. This part always makes her nervous. Every time she lowers herself in front of him, she just waits for him to pull back, to recoil, and to look at her the way that so many others do. But before she can think too much about, before she can lose herself in her head, Robin reaches out and stokes his fingers through the front of her hair as an expectant smile draws onto his lips.

Looking around he leans back onto his elbows, swallowing hard as she grins up at him. Drawing in a breath, she reaches for the buttons on his trousers, slowly working her fingers over them, moving slower and slower as he grows impatient. She laughs a little as he watches her and finally, when his pants are undone, she reaches in and cups him through the thin muslin that covers him. He lets out a little, encouraging groan as she pulls him out through the slit in the muslin–and he lets out a breathy groan as she licks lips, she gets up onto her knees and looks up at him, grinning as he smiles at her.

Gently, her fingers form around him, pushing slowly down the length of him. She takes him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip as her as she lowers herself, flattening out her tongue and letting her slide from tip to base. His hand tangles in her hair as her lips and tongue drag back and forth–until finally she feels a familiar twitch, telling her that he's nearing a climax.

Her eyes shift up to him as she pushes her mouth down over him, taking him full into her mouth as he comes–and when he's spent, she slowly pulls back.

This part has always been a bit awkward and her cheeks flush slightly as wipes her finger over the corners of her mouth and starts to stand, but before she can, he reaches for her, pulling her down beside him. He grins as he pushes his hand into her hair, drawing her in and kissing her softly–and when he pulls back, she feels her cheeks warm.

"I really love you, you know that?"

She nods and her stomach flutters. "And… I love you."

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that."

Chuckling softly, she nods–it surprises her how much she likes saying, how much she enjoys hearing the words fall from her lips, the warm tingle deep in her chest, and the way his eyes smile as he hears it. "I, um… should go and… clean up." She shrugs a bit awkwardly. "I'm a mess."

"You're gorgeous."

Her eyes roll, but she can't help but smile. "Somehow, I doubt your father would deem me appropriate for tea."

"Oh, that reminds me," he murmurs as he fumbles with the buttons on the front of his pants. "We, uh, got kind of lucky. I forgot to mention that there's one more birthday surprise on the way for Henry." Her head tips to the side curiously, and before can ask, he grins. "Your father is on his way over and… may have gotten Henry a pony."

"What?"

"Well, he said that any knight deserves a proper steed, so–"

"No, I mean–" She stops and laughs, shaking her head as she draws in a breath, feeling anxious about what might have happened. It was only in the last few months that she'd been able to look him in the eye again. "Never mind."

"Are you alright with that? I know we should have asked but–"

"The horse is fine," she cuts in. "That's my father's signature gift, you know."

He laughs, "He may have mentioned that."

"It's a little much, but…" She stops. "I'm actually a little surprised he didn't come."

"He wanted," he says. "And he helped with the decorations." A grin pulls onto her lips. "Initially, he'd planned on bringing the horse earlier while we were at the ruins, but then he thought your mother might decide to come alone and he didn't want to ruin the day."

At that, she laughs. "That was… oddly thoughtful."

"I was," he says, reaching out and tucking a few straying curls back behind her ear. "He said he'd be by after tea. I don't really know what time it is, but–"

"I should definitely go and clean up then."

Robin nods. "I'll put the horses back in their stall and brush them out, then I'll be up."

Taking a breath, she nods as he brushes his fingers over her cheek. "I love you," she says, grinning as a soft laugh rises into her voice. "And this was an absolutely perfect day. Thank you for it."

Leaning in, he pecks her lips. "There's no need to thank me, but if you want to tell me that you love me a hundred more times, I wouldn't complain."

Nodding, she grins and pulls herself up from the hay bales. She looks back at him from over her shoulder, grinning again as she walks out of the stable and her heart flutters softly when he smiles back–and then, as she rounds the corner, she sees Zelena sitting atop one of the horses in a green satin riding outfit.

"Some things never change, do they?"

"How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough," Zelena laughs as she shakes her head. "You really have no shame, do you."

Her cheeks flush. "I… I thought we were alone."

"You've always been such a whore," Zelena murmurs in a condescending tone. "You should feel lucky that it was only me who caught you, and not Richard."

Regina's eyes widen. "He's–"

"Not feeling well," Zelena says, pouting out her bottom lip. "He wanted a nap before tea and I got bored and thought I'd do a little exploring."

"Why?"

Zelena shrugs and laughs softly. "Well, one should always be aware of what they're buying."

"What?"

"Too bad Robin didn't have that chance," Zelena murmurs. "Who knows when that buyer's remorse will set in."

"Zelena, what–" 

"Well, I should be off," Zelena interjects, tugging on the reigns of her horse's bridle, and before she can say any more, Zelena's horse takes off toward the forest, leaving her standing there with an ever-tightening knot in her stomach.

Sitting at her dressing table she stares at herself the mirror, replaying her conversation with Zelena again and again–and each and every time, she hates herself a little bit more. She always seems to end up here, self-loathing and second-guessing, and she's not sure how to stop the cycle–all she knows is that every day she seems to be reminded of how desperately she wishes she could erase the past, or have it to do over again, or at the very least, just be able to forget about it for a little while…

"There you are," Robin murmurs as he comes into the room, tugging at one of his cufflink. "I've been looking for you."

"I've… been here."

Through the mirror, she watches him blink up at her and his brow creases–he looks concerned. "I thought you'd be in the nursery with Henry and Roland, but Mal said she hadn't seen you since dinner."

"Well, the boys were both exhausted and–"

"Regina," he cuts in as he finally loosens the cufflink on one wrist. "You've been avoiding me since–"

"I'm not," she insists, shifting uncomfortably as his eyes lock with her through the mirror causing her shoulders to tense the way that they do when she lies to him. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. It was a busy day."

He nods and she watches as his eyes narrow as he loosens the other cufflink, then drops it into his palm. "You barely spoke at dinner."

"I couldn't get an word in edgewise," she says as shrugs dismissively. "Henry wouldn't allow it. He's still so excited about his dragon."

"And his knighthood… and his adorable, but noble steed."

A soft grin tugs onto his lips. "That, too."

Robin takes a breath as he pushes his sleeves up his arm as he sits down on the bench beside her, his back facing the mirror, and slowly, she turns to look at him. "You don't have to tell me," he says simply, "But I wish you would. So often burdens are easier to manage when you can share them." A little grin edges onto his lips. "A vicar once told me that."

"A vicar, hm?"

"Yes."

"And when was the last time, aside from our wedding, that you interacted with a vicar?" His smile fades and his gaze falls away from hers, and it takes only a moment for her to understand. "Oh. I'm sorry. That was–"

"It's fine," he interjects as he looks back at her, mustering a grin. "Truly."

She nods and looks away. "Still, I should've known better. I, of all people, know what it's like to bury someone too soon."

"Marian's death was an absolute low point of my life, but believe it or not, that was not the last time I set foot in a church or sought the advice of a vicar." He grins a little. "The last time came a month or so afterward when Roland was christened, and I was terrified at the thought of raising a child on my own." He grins. "Until Roland, I'd never even held a baby, much less cared for one."

"They're quite a shock to the system, aren't they?"

Robin nods and laughs softly, his eyes narrowing. "Most of the advice was complete and utter rubbish, but that little bit was good." She grins as he draws in a breath. "I wish you'd confide in me and let me help you carry whatever burden is resting on your shoulders."

Swallowing hard, she turns away and her eyes fall to her lap, and she watches the way thumb rubs absently at her wedding ring. "But then you might never be able to look at me the same."

"I doubt that."

"But you don't know it. You can't. Not for sure, anyway."

"Right," he murmurs flatly as his head falls back. "And at the end of the day, I don't care. If you want to keep your secrets, you're entitled to them and I meant it when I said I wouldn't press you." He sighs, lifting his head as he looks back at her as she fidgets uncomfortably with her fingers. "It's just I can't quite figure out how whatever-it-is came to haunt you between the stables and the house. We we were having such a wonderful day and then–"

"It's not that," she cuts in, her voice small as her shoulders tense up again. "Not exactly, anyway."

"Then what?"

She draws in a breath as her eyes close, and she thinks of Zelena's smug smile and how she's looked at her with such disgust, and she she still feels the embarrassment and regret she'd felt in that moment. "Zelena," she says, opening up her eyes as she releases her breath. "She, um… she… saw us."

He blinks, and for a moment, the implication doesn't seem to register–and then, he understands. "Ah."

"It was stupid. I shouldn't have–"

"Regina," he cuts in. "You didn't do anything wrong."

At that, her eyes widen and she can't quite believe he sees no fault in what happened between them in the stables. "Robin, we were… and… anyone could've–"

"Regina," he cuts in again, her voice fading as he reaches across her lap and strokes her knee. "We didn't do anything wrong this afternoon. We were enjoying a private moment together, and any person with any ounce of decency would've saw that and turned the other way."

"But that's just it–anyone could've seen us."

"No," he murmurs. "They couldn't have." He sighs as his fingers rub at her skirt. "Regina, the boys were inside the house. My father hardly ever goes riding and he couldn't have gone today, even if he did want to, because the groomsmen and both stable boys had their scheduled day off." He grins and chuckles softly. "I know that because I'm fairly certain I bribed the coachman with a month's salary to drive us to those ruins this morning."

A little smile edges onto her lips. "He works hard. He deserves a day off, here and there."

"And he got it, after he drove us, and he also got quite a nice sum of money to enjoy along with it."

"But even in his absence–"

"No one was around," he says, shaking his head as his voice rises over her. "And you shouldn't feel guilty."

"But I do," she says, her throat feeling tight as she looks to him. "This is just a pattern with me," she tells him, her voice small and barely audible. "I just keep… giving her more to hold over my head."

"Regina, this isn't something that she can hold over you. We didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes roll. "Except that she can–and she will."

"I'm serious. You have nothing to feel guilty about." Blinking she looks to him as his fingers press more firmly to her thigh, and he smiles gently in a way that she wishes was reassuring. "I won't let you beat yourself up over what happened between us in the stables." Despite herself, she grins as his hand slide up to her hip. "You and I don't have many private moments–not ones that are truly private, not with maids coming in and out and our children's lack of understanding about closed doors, so unless we want to wake up before the sun, we have to take what we can get."

"So, what you're telling me is that it could have been worse?"

"I'm telling you that I have no regrets about what happened, and I won't let Zelena ruin what was a perfectly lovely day."

"It was pretty wonderful before–"

"No," he cuts in, shaking his head as his fingers press harder into her hip. "Don't do that. It was wonderful. End of story."

"But, I can't–"

"No."

"But–"

"No," he says again, laughing softly as a grin pulls onto his lips. "Just forget about Zelena."

"I doubt she'll–"

"She's not our concern."

"Oh no? And suppose she tells your father what she saw?" She feels her cheeks warm as that familiar feeling of dread settles at her core. "What then?"

"Then I kindly remind him that you and I are married and we've done nothing wrong."

"But–"

"No," he cuts in, shaking his head, his fingers still rubbing gently back and forth against her hip. "I'm not going to allow you to keep finding reasons to feel guilty. I'm not going to let you beat yourself up, and while I am not completely convinced that that's all you're upset about, I won't let you dwell on it."

Her brow arches and a little smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth–she can't help it when he's grinning at her and touching her the way he is. "Let me?"

He nods, "That's right."

"And how exactly do you intend to accomplish this?" He grins and pulls away his hand, slowly rising and moving to stand behind her. He catches her gaze through the mirror as his hands fold around her shoulders, giving them a few tight squeezes as this thumbs press to a particularly tight spot at back of her neck. "Oh," she murmurs softly, swallowing hard as she leans back into his touch. "That… feels nice."

"Does it?"

"Mm…"

"Then why don't you go into the dressing room and change into your nightdress, and I'll do this properly." Her brow arches and he drips a kiss to the top of her head. "Go on."

"It sounds like you're propositioning me."

"I swear," he says, holding up his hands. "This will be completely innocent." And then, she watches as his grin grows coy. "Unless, of course, you don't want it to be innocent."

She laughs as his smile brightens; and, as she watches him through the mirror, she finds it doubtful that he'll change what she's feeling. But as he smiles, she can't help but feel her chest flutter with a mix of feelings she's still not used to, and she decides there's no harm in letting him try… whatever that might mean.


	21. Chapter 21

A grin pulls onto his lips as he stands in the doorway of the nursery, watching as Regina tosses Roland's pillows onto Henry's bed and pulls back the quilt and sheets. She sighs loudly and mutters something underneath her breath as she pulls the sheet completely off, and dropping it to the floor before sighing again–louder this time, and clearly annoyed–as she straightens up and places her hands on her hips. **  
**

And then, his grin fades.

"I wondered where you disappeared to."

"Oh," she murmurs, turning to look at him from over her shoulder. "I've been here… like I always am in the mornings."

"For breakfast, sure."

She blinks. "They only finished a little while ago–" Her voice halts as she offers him a sheepish little grin. "I wasn't sure if _others_ would be through though, and I'm not quite ready to start tip-toeing around Zelena and your father." Her eyes roll. "Considering I've got a day of it ahead of me, I figured I might as well pace myself. You know, ease into it."

"Smart. They were somewhat nauseating at breakfast." He bristles a little, remembering the way his father reached out and tucked a straying lock behind her ear and then way she'd batted her eyes, practically melting into his touch. "They were just… fawning all over each other."

Regina nods and for a moment, it looks like she's going to make some sort of quip about it; but then her expression changes. "See, my company was much nicer."

"I'm sure."

"The worst thing that happened was Roland sneezed as he was sprinkling cinnamon into his oatmeal, and it got everywhere."

"So is that why the sheets need changing?"

She blinks down at the sheets at her feet. "Oh…no…"

"Though, I'm more curious about why you're the one doing it." Her brow furrows and she shakes her head as if puzzled by the question. "I'm just wondering why _you're_ the one doing it and not one of the maids we employ to do this sort of thing."

"Oh, it's not—"

"Regina, whether they like it or not you are the Lady if the House, and—"

"No, no, no," she cuts in. "It's not like that. I was just looking for something that Roland lost." His eyes narrow skeptically. "I promise."

"But it wouldn't be the first time."

He watches her tense and fake a smile as she tops her head. "I don't know what—"

"Regina, I know about Mal's room. I know that you were the one who cleaned it and set it up, and I know why you did it."

As soon as the words leave he regrets them, and Regina's eyes fall to the floor. "I… wanted the room to be ready for her. I wanted to do something nice for her."

"That's not the point," he says, scoffing as his jaw tenses. "Regina, _you_ shouldn't have been–"

"Look," she cuts in as she looks back to him. "I don't want to fight about this. I don't want a lecture. I just… I want to find the key to Roland's music box so he can play the song for Mal and–"

"Music box?"

She nods and points to the little table between the boys' beds–and sitting in front of the oil lamp is a little porcelain music box that fills his with warm memories he's all but forgotten. "We we were going through some trunks up in the attic and the boys found it." She shrugs and he watches as a little grin tugs onto her lips. "Roland liked it, and I didn't see any harm in letting him have it." And then, her eyes widen. "I… hope that's alright," she says, her voice suddenly cautious. "I didn't think about–"

"It was my mother's," he tells her as he takes a few steps toward her. "And, I'd like to think she'd love that her grandson enjoys her music box."

"I'm sure she would," Regina says, watching as he reaches for it. "Roland loves the song it plays. He was hoping that Mal could teach him."

"But he lost the key?"

Sighing, she nods, looking back to the bare mattress. "He played it last night before bed, and then this morning–"

"It was gone."

"Yes, and I've looked _everywhere_."

He laughs softly as Regina falls back onto Henry's bed and pushes one hand into her hair as her other arm folds around Henry's stuffed dragon "He's going to be so up–" Her voice halts and her eyes sink closed and then, a little laugh escapes him as Regina pulls the dragon onto her lap and turns it to face him. "I… don't believe this."

"Is that–"

"Yes," she sighs as her fingers slip underneath a faded and tattered yellow ribbon around the dragon's neck–and as she lifts it up, the little golden key catches the light. "It's been… right here the _whole_ time."

"How long have you been searching?"

"At _least_ an hour."

Laughing, Robin sits down beside her, plucking the ribbon from her fingers–and for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in a hazy memory of his mother kneeling in front of him and tying the ribbon around his wrist as soft song played from the music box. It was an incomplete memory–a fragment of a larger one that had been lost over the years–but still, it made him smile as he remembers his mother's smiling eyes and tight hugs.

There were a handful of things that reminded him of her–pastel watercolors and thick knit blankets, the sound of birds chirping and the smell of lilac–and each of those things conjured memories of his earliest years.

And so did the key.

"You know," he begins, looking over at Regina as a grin tugs onto his lips. "I think I have an idea about how we can avoid my father and Zelena for the rest of the day."

Her brow arches and little grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "Tell me more."

"Mmm, no," he says, shaking his head as a little laugh bubbles up from his chest. "No details."

"But, you just–"

"I want it to be a surprise."

She brightens. "I'm intrigued."

"Can you be ready in a half an hour?" He asks, getting up from the bed. "That should be enough time for me to head to to the stables and–"

"We're _going_ somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Robin, it's going to rain," she says, gesturing to the window and the gray sky outside of it. "It looks like it's going to _storm_."

"So what," he says, shrugging dismissively. "It'll add to the adventure."

"You're crazy, you know that? You're positively insane."

His brow arches as he tucks the key into his pocket. "Are you saying you'd rather stay here?"

"No," she admits in a small voice as bites down on her bottom lip. "I'm just… pointing out that it's going to rain."

He laughs as he takes a few steps back. "Be by the front doors in a half an hour."

"You're really not going–"

"Not a single detail," he calls out, laughing again, as backs out of the nursery, leaving her to wonder.

"Where are we?" Regina asks as he helps her down from Rocinante and a grin slowly edges onto her lips as she takes in the little cottage surrounded by a short cobblestone wall. He watches as her eyes fall on the lilac bush beneath the front window and he watches how she smiles as her eyes spot the apple tree beside the overhang–and he laughs as Rocinante sniffs the air and licks his nose, likely picking up the scent of his favorite snack. "It's… just so cute and cozy looking."

Drawing in a deep breath, he breathes in the crisp, fresh air, and he can practically smell the rain. Glancing upward, he looks at the heavy gray clouds that hover above and hide the sun–and he can barely wait to get inside.

"I don't think I ever told you, but my mother used to paint."

"No," she murmurs as she looks to him, her smile brightening. "You never did."

"And this was where she liked to do that," he says, pushing his hand into his pocket and pulling out the key on the yellow ribbon. "I remember her bringing me here when I was small. She'd build up a fire and I'd play while she painted or sketched–and even though I don't remember much more than that, I remember feeling very happy when she brought me here."

"That's so sweet."

He nods. "After she died, I used to come here to… feel close to her and remember her and…" He takes a breath as her smile starts to fade, wanting to keep the moment light. "Well, I haven't been here since I was about twelve years old."

"Why did you stop coming?"

"Well, I lost the key," he says as he holds up the ribbon, deciding not to share how he'd come home one day from the boarding school he attended for most of the year to find his room had been moved. The nursery that he'd lived in for all of his life had been closed up and his things had been taken to one of the other rooms. It was supposed to be a surprise–he was no longer a child and wouldn't live as such. There was new bedding on a huge canopy bed and all new clothes hanging in the closet. There was new, more serious-looking art hanging on the walls in the place of the whimsical painting that adorned his nursery, and his all of his books and toys had been packed up and put away, leaving his shelves empty and waiting to be refilled with titles and items more appropriate for a young man. He'd been so excited and strangely proud of his new room, and it wasn't until weeks later, that he even noticed his mother's music box was missing. "This key."

"But that's the key to the music box," Regina says as her eyes narrow. "I know because I've watched Roland wind it up no less than four thousand times in the past two weeks."

"It is," he tells her, reaching for her hand. "But it's also opens the door to this cottage." He laughs softly and shrugs. "My, um… my father gave it to her a surprise."

Regina's brows atch and she looks genuinely surprised. "The music box or the cottage?"

"Both," he says, laughing softly. "It was… some sort of puzzle or something… and this key opened a bunch of things." He shrugs. "I heard the story once when I was little, but I don't remember the details."

"That's… so sweet."

"He wasn't always the way he is now," he says, his voice sadder than intended. "He loved my mother."

Regina draws in a breath and looks from him to the cottage. "Losing her must have been difficult for him."

It was–and he knows it. He remembers how his father was before his mother's death and he remembers how he slowly changed into the man that he is now–and once again, he refuses to focus on old, painful memories. He reaches for Regina's hand, giving it a soft tug as a grin tugs onto his lips. "Come on," he says, his grin brightening as her fingers lace down through his. "Let's go inside before it rains."

"I thought the rain was all a part of the adventure."

Shaking his head, he chuckles softly as they lead Rocinante to the little overhang at the side of the cottage–and then, he can't help but laugh out as both Regina and Rocinante reach for an apple hanging down from the tree.

"I… wouldn't eat those."

"I'm not going to," Regina says, her eyes rolling. "I was going feed it to _him_." She giggles softly to herself as she turns back to the horse, and he watches as Rocinante nuzzles her arm as she plucks the apple and he neighs as takes the apple from her palm. "See?"

"Well, I never know with you and apples…"

Again, her eyes roll and this time, she reaches for his hand, letting him lead her around the side of the cottage to the door. He fumbles with the key as the wind picks up a little and she laughs as she tells him to hurry up. Looking up at the sky, he watches as clouds roll, suddenly looking darker than they did a few minutes before. He wiggles the key and again, Regina urges him to hurry–and just as the soft sound of rain taps against the leaves on the trees that surround them.

"That was close."

"Too close," she says, her eyes widening. "I'd have ruined my dress if we'd got caught in that," she tells him, motioning to the window. "It's _pouring_ out there!"

He grins. "It looks like we're stuck here until it passes, then."

Something flashes behind her eyes as a smile draws onto her lips. "I suppose we are."

They spend the next several hours looking through his mother's sketch books and boxes of the tiled canvases she used to paint. Most of the drawings are unfinished, just doodles of flowers and leaves and the occasional bushy-tailed squirrel or brightly-colored bird.

He built up the fire and wrapped them both in a dusty but warm knit blanket and he tells her all of the stories he can think of about his mother. He tells her about how pretty he thought she was with her blonde hair and dimpled smile and how he liked to sit on her bed and watch her brush out her hair. He tells her about how she used to sing songs that she made up on a whim and he loved when she'd pick him up and hold him as she danced around the dark hallways at Sherwood. She was a nature lover and she taught him all sorts of things about woodland creatures and plants, and she used to grow all sorts of wild flowers in the garden behind the cottage–and he remembers spending hours with her, picking the bouquets of flowers and tying them with ribbons.

Every time he thought he might be boring her with his fragmented memories, she'd ask for another story, listening intently to every detail–and when she stumbled on a little watercolor painting of a little blue-eyed, dimpled, toddler-aged boy sitting in a patch of wild flowers, she sets it aside, deciding it's one she _needs_ to keep.

Eventually, though, they'd run out of sketches and paintings to look at and he'd run out of stories to share with her–but still, outside, the rain persisted. Regina had shifted herself into his lap and smiled sweetly as pushed her hands up over his cheeks, giggling softly as his stubbly beard tickled her hands, and he couldn't stop his own smile as he watched her eyes closed as she slowly leaned in to kiss him.

Since that night at the hunting lodge, they hadn't been together–or at least, not in that particular way–and for the most part, he was alright it with and he more than enjoyed the intimate moments she'd allow between them. He loved waking her up by kissing her shoulder and neck as his hand slipped down her body and his fingers dipped underneath her nightdress. He loved watching as a smile edged onto her lips as his fingers stroked her and he loved the way her eyes would flitter open, nodding as he shifted himself between her legs. He loved the way her breath would grow ragged and how she'd bite down on her lip as she tried to keep herself from moaning or calling out his name, and he loved that she always failed–and his heart always beat wildly as he pulled away, watching as an almost-shy grin edged onto her lips as she rolled onto her side, licking her lips as she prepared herself to return the favor.

But sometimes, it wasn't enough.

Sometimes, he wished that he could slip inside of her, that he could enjoy the warmth of her enveloped around him, that they could lay together, tangled and connected.

He let out a shaky breath as she broke the kiss, her lips ghosting over his jaw as they moved to the crook of his neck–and as she shifted herself, she pressed closer and pressing herself against his growing erection. She let out a low _mmm_ as she sucked at his neck, and involuntarily, his head fell back, giving her more access. Her lips were soft and her kisses were wet–and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to flip her over and onto her back and fuck her until they were both completely satisfied.

Swallowing hard, he shuddered, both loving and hating what she was doing to him.

"Regina," he breathes out. "We… we nee–" He clears his throat, again swallowing. "Wait." She pulls back and her eyes are wide–and again, all he can think of her wrapping her legs around his hips, moving in rhythm with thrusts as she came around him. "We need to… slow… down… just for a bit."

"Oh," she murmurs, nodding as she shifts herself off of his lap. "Right. I'm… I'm sorry."

"No," he says, laughing softly as he shakes his head. "Do _not_ apologize."

"I could, um…"

"I just need a few minutes."

She nods and he watches her lay back on her elbows as she draws on the of the sketchbooks onto her lap. "I really like this one, too," she tells him. "Not _nearly_ as much as the one of Baby-Robin sitting in a patch of flowers, but… I just… I like this one."

He leans back and looks at a drawing of a flower with droplets of rain or maybe dew on its leaves and petals. "That is a good one," he says, trying in vain to calm himself. "You should… bring it back with you."

"No, I… I couldn't."

"Why not?" He asks. "It's just sitting here, collecting dust."

"Yeah," she murmurs, looking back to the sketch. "There's just something so… refreshing about… about the raindrops on the leaves." She laughs a little. "I can practically smell it."

Robin's brow arches. "Maybe you _do_ smell it… or well… a flower like it." Regina's eyes roll and he watches as her fingers trace the leaf on the flower, swirling around the droplet–and a grin pulls onto his lips. "We could go out and see if–"

"What? Go? As in… out _there_?"

Sitting up, he laughs, grabbing onto her hand and tugging her up to her feet. She screams out as he lifts her up, but despite her protests and pleading, she makes no effort to actually free herself from his loose hold–and a moment later, he's crossing the threshold, and carrying her out into the rain. Her screams turn to laughs as he spins around the garden as thick raindrops gently pelt against them.

His ribs ache and his chest is sore from laughing when he sets her down–and as soon as she tries to take a step, she falls into him, laughing out as he catches her.

"Why are we out here!?"

"I need to cool down."

"So you brought _me_?"

"Well, it's no fun spinning around in the rain when you're alone," he tells her as his arms circle around her waist. "Aren't you having fun?"

She sighs and pretends to pout. "My dress is ruined."

"It's not ruined. It's just wet."

"My hair is going to get all frizzy and–"

"I like it when you're hair is frizzy."

Her cheeks flush and she looks up at him, biting down on her bottom lip. "I… want to kiss you again, but I assume the reason you needed to _cool down_ , is because I was kissing you."

"And because you were rubbing up against me and getting me all… hot and bothered."

"Mm, right," she nods. "But I still want to kiss you."

"That's perfect because _I_ want _you_ to kiss me, too."

"But wouldn't that undo all the _cooling down_?"

He shrugs. "You win some, you lose some." Laughing, her head falls forward and his hands drop lower on her waist. "And somehow, right now, losing feels like winning."

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head at him. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I'm not sure _impossible_ is the word you're looking for," he says, his eyes narrowing as a grin pulls onto his lips. "I think _irresistible_ is what you meant to say."

"Hmmm," she murmurs, giggling as she leans up onto her toes and kissing him gently. "Maybe it is."

He pulls her back to him, kissing her harder as her arms link around his neck–and again, he lifts her up and carries her back into the cottage. He lays her down on the blanket by the fire, watching the way her chest rises and falls as she looks over at him with wide eyes and a seductive little grin–and for a moment, he finds himself thinking about how good it would feel to have her legs wrapped around him as she slowly rode his cock.

"Regina, I… miss…" His voice trails off as he feels a dull pang of guilt. "It's just been so long since we were… together and… I…"

"It hasn't been that long," she says, her voice quiet and suddenly a bit insecure. "There was that afternoon in the stables when I–"

"No," he cuts in. "That's not what I mean."

"Oh… are you… disappointed with…"

"No, no, no," he cuts in, shaking his head as he stretches out beside her. "I'm not disappointed." Her eyes narrow, skeptically, as she pulls herself up onto her elbows. "I just keep thinking about how good you felt that night… how wet you were…and how…" He draws in a breath and swallows hard as a sly little grin tugs onto her lips. "How soft you felt."

"Well, you know, we can't do all of that again."

"I know and I'm not asking. I just… I've been thinking about it and… I just…" He sighs. The cold rain didn't help at all. "That night was really wonderful, Regina."

"It was," she agrees. "And, just so you know… I… think about that night sometimes, too."

"Do you?"

She nods. "Often."

"I mean, we could… just for a little while," he murmurs, his voice of wanting. "I could pull out before–"

"No," she says as he stammers. "I know that's _supposed_ to work, but I also know that's why I have a seven-year old." Biting down on her lip, she scrunches her nose. "I am sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," he tells her. "I just–"

"There is _something_ we could do."

"Oh, trust me," he says, a burst of husky laughter following his voice. "I know there are other–"

"No," she cuts in. "Not… what we usually do." She grins as she pulls herself up. "Something else." He swallows, but his breath catches as she leans in, brushing her lips over his as her hand slips between his legs. She pulls back slightly, grinning as she cups him through his trousers. "It's… not like we have much else to do until the rain passes so…" She shrugs. "Just… not inside, alright?"

He nods, pecking at her lips as he smiles and wraps his arms around her. Her fingers work quickly over the buttons on his shirt as he fumbles with the fastenings on the back of her dress–and then, his sucks in a breath when he feels the fabric finally loosen and his hands slide against her warm skin. She pulls back and shrugs the dress off her shoulders. His eyes fall to her chest and it takes only a second before he ducks in, flicking his tongue around her nipple and kneading at her soft skin. His lips trail up, skimming over her clavicle and back up to her jaw, she giggles as his lips settle in a spot just underneath her earlobe in a spot he knows is a bit ticklish.

"Robin–"

"You don't have to do this," he says, pulling back and look at her, his eyes settling on hers. "I didn mean to im–"

She doesn't let him finish.

She pushes herself forward and down onto his back as her hands slip inside of his shirt, pushing it open. Her fingers trail slowly down his ribs as she kisses him harder, eventually settling on his belt. He grunts against her mouth as he feels her fingers slip into his trousers, the tips teasingly rubbing against the strained muslin fabric that separates them. He feels her smile against his lips as she pushes her hand lower, and awkwardly he shifts himself, tugging her dress down over her hips before pulling down his trousers and giving her more access to him.

Regina breaks the kiss and looks down at him, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip as she pulls him out and curls her fingers around his shaft, and though she doesn't need to get him ready for anything–he's _been_ ready–she works her hand up and down him a few times as she rises up onto her knees and with free hand, she eases him back onto the blanket.

He sucks in a breath as he looks at her–naked and beautiful–and he loves the way that she smiles at him. There's a confidence that wasn't there before and a flirtiness about it, and his heart flutters at the idea that she might be letting go of her insecurities as she grows more comfortable with him.

"Just remember–"

"I know," he tells her, his voice husky as he reaches up to hold her hips. "And I promise I won't."

She grins as she lowers herself–and for a moment, he just watches, waiting to see what she's going to do. Her hands press against his chest as she hovers over his erection. Her grin grows coy as he reaches for her hips–and then, she starts to rock her hips, slowly working herself over him. She's warm and slick and she feels so damn good.

Regina laughs out as he sits up and wraps his arms around her back, he lips brushing and pecking at hers. She wraps her legs around his waist as she continues to rock her hips, rubbing herself against his cock, and when he finally lets her catch his lips between hers, her fingers push up into his hair as she draws in closer.

And he finds himself thinking there's no other way he'd rather spend a rainy afternoon.

It's late when they return to Sherwood.

Their clothes and hair are wet and they're still a little giggly and flushed–and as they step inside the house, he says a silent prayer that, unlike the last time they spent an incredible afternoon together, no one will bust their happy little bubble. They make it to the stairs before hearing a clatter of footsteps nearing, and he holds his breath as Regina turns to watch Henry and Roland running toward. And to his relief both boys are all smiles and accompanied by Mal.

"Mama! Mama!" Henry calls. "The post came! You got a letter!"

Regina's brow furrows. "I got a letter?"

Henry reaches into his pocket and holds it out to her. "It has a fancy green seal on it!"

"I hope it's alright that he held onto it," Mal says. "He wanted to be the one to give it to you."

Kneeling down, Regina takes the letter and presses a quick kiss to her son's forehead–and Robin watches the way Regina tenses up as she slips her finger underneath the seal. Her hands tremble as she unfolds it, and it occurs to him that she'd likely rather be opening the letter in private–and the least he can do is distract her audience.

"Did you have fun today?" He asks as he scoops up Roland and holds him against his chest. "Tell me what lessons you two had."

"Piano!" Roland exclaims. "I played my song."

Robin's brow arches as he looks to Mal who smiles warmly. "We played the first few notes."

"And what about you?" He asks, looking to Henry. "Did you play the song."

Henry nods excitedly. " _And_ I learned more words in German."

"Well, that's certainly exciting."

Roland nods in agreement. "We played with Henry's dragons, too!"

Mal laughs softly. "We had… whatever the boy version of a tea party is." Robin grins. "We made cinnamon scones and–"

"Dragons like cinnamon," Roland says.

"Our _tea_ was even spicy."

"It's a blend that I make," Mal tells him. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Robin says easily as he looks between the boys. "Pretty soon these two will be breathing fire."

"We can't," Roland says with a dramatic sigh. "We're not _really_ dragons."

Robin's eyes slide to Regina, watching as a little hint of a smile creeps onto her lips as she folds up the letter and slides it into her pocket as Mal asks Henry and Roland if they know what shapeshifting is, and when both boys shake their heads, she smiles as she tips up her chin and tells them she now knows what they'll be discussing over dinner–and when Henry's eyes widen, she takes him by the hand and then reaches for Roland and says no more about it.

"You were… very right about her," Robin says as he watches her proceed past them on the stairs with each boy by the hand. "She's… perfect for them."

"She's great at what she does," Regina says, drawing in a breath. "Um, the letter was… from Winston."

"Oh," he murmurs, trying to hide his relief. "What did he need?"

"Well, apparently, there is something called the Harvest Ball and–"

"My grandfather used to host it," Robin explains. "He'd open up the house and have this huge ball. He'd invite everyone in the village and have a huge feast and music and dancing."

"That sounds fun."

"Do they need extra funds or–"

"No," she cuts in as her smile brightens. "He… was wondering if we wanted to host it."

"Oh…"

"It's soon, though. I don't think–"

"When?"

"Next week."

"That is soon."

She nods. "And Zelena's dinner party–"

"I don't care about that."

"Your father does," she tells him with a sigh. "And I really don't want to give him any more reason not to like me." She bites down on her bottom lip and shrugs. "It's too close. With travel we'd have to leave only a day after we arrive. It's probably not worth it."

She's likely right; it was a lot of travel for just one night. But she's grinning expectantly at him and he knows that she wants to get away from Sherwood as much as he does–and unlike her, he's incredibly unconcerned about Zelena's dinner party or his father's feelings being hurt.

"I don't know," he murmurs. "I think it might be worth it."

"You do?"

He nods and reaches for her hand. "It's certainly worth discussing," he says as his fingers lace through hers and he gives her hand a little tug. "So, I suppose we have something to talk about over dinner, too."

"I suppose we do," she replies, letting him lead her up the stairs–and by the time they reach the top, he's already convinced that they'll be making a impromptu trip to the hunting lodge at the end of the week.


	22. Chapter 22

Regina blinks as she looks up from the desk, absently dabbing her quill into the inkwell as she tries to collect her thoughts before committing them to paper.

She's not used to being busy, and she's not used to having her opinion asked–well, not by anyone outside of Robin and a small handful of chosen staff–and outside of her boys and tedious tasks that deal with an estate that she's barely interested in maintaining.

But the past few days have focused her attention and given her something fun to do–and she had to work at a rapid, quick-fire pace because she was well aware that including her in the planning process of the Harvest Ball only complicated the preparations, the staff at the hunting lodge seemed to want the complication, and it was nice to feel wanted.

She'd chosen the main course for dinner and she'd requested a desert, they asked her opinion on the flower choices and color schemes; she picked the music they would dance to and selected games for the children of the surrounding village to play–and each and every decision she made and each and every option that was offered to her, had to be sent in either the morning or midday post. There was something thrilling about that–about having something to do and a timeline in which it had to be done–and though she knew it'd little matter to anyone if she chose sunflowers and fall-toned dahlias and mums or purple emperors and vervain, it filled her with a sense of accomplishment.

When she was a little girl her mother always told her that her carefully structured childhood would prepare her to be a Great Lady presiding over a Great Estate, and nothing had seemed more dull than that. And though she didn't quite imagine herself that way, there was something satisfying about what she was doing–and she thought that, maybe, in another life, this could have been something she was good at.

"Regin–" Mal clears her throat as she just barely steps into the drawing room, hovering at the doorway as she holds a straw bonnet by it's black ribbons . "I'm sorry. M'lady. I just wanted to let you know that–"

"Please don't call me that," Regina says, looking to Mal. "It seems so… formal and–"

"You're my employer now."

"And before that I was your nephew's wife and before that, a little girl who was occasionally left in your charge."

A hint of a grin tugs up at the corner of Mal's mouth. "Your nannies were always quite eager for a break."

"That's because I never did as I was told."

"I remember," Mal laughs. "You didn't listen to me, either."

"I listened," Regina says, "I just… still did whatever it was that I wanted to do." Mal's eyes roll as she shakes her head. "Do you remember that one time that I was so sure I could clear the fence and–"

"Daniel egged you on."

Regina nods. "He usually did."

"And I end up plucking you up out of a mud puddle."

Regina nods, laughing softly. "You were quite convinced that my mother wasn't going to allow you to come back." Her chin tips up and she shakes her head. "Never mind that you were practically a child left in charge of another, smaller child. I doubt it'd have been you who wasn't asked to return."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? All I saw was that your petticoats were all up over your head and there was mud in your braids and, worst of all, your lip was busted and bloody."

"My point is that I think we're beyond formalities and titles."

"Fine. If you… insist on it, I suppose that's fair, even if your father-in-law would hate it and it makes me slightly uncomfortable," Mal sighs, but nods as she smoothes her hands over her black skirt. "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be going now." Regina nods, watching as Mal hesitates. "Unless, you need me to–"

"No," Regina cuts in, shaking her head. "We told you you could have these few days off and we meant it."

"But, I don't _have_ to go."

"Of course you do," Regina says, setting down the quill. "Rose's will–"

"It's unlikely that she left me anything," Mal cuts in, her voice softer and her eyes a bit teary. "And if she did, I'm sure the lawyers would handle it and save the family from… the shock."

"It'll give you closure."

"I thought that's what the funeral was supposed to do." Regina nods–she understands more than most that closure doesn't just come a funeral or the reading of a will or any other particular or set date. But, of course, for Mal, there's a bit more to it than that. "Besides that, this feels like the opposite of closure. I feel like I've been moving on and now I'm just opening up an old wound." Taking a breath she forces a smile. "I shouldn't go," she says decisively, setting down the carpet bag she'd been carrying. "I don't mind being out the cost of a–"

"The Bryerlys invited you."

"Their lawyers did."

"Because _Rose_ wanted you there." She softens as Mal's eyes fall to the ground. "You were important to her. She loved you."

Mal nods, grinning gently. "We were happy, in our way." And then her grin fades. "But, I've responsibilities here now," she says. "And I feel like I'm finally settling into a routine with your boys and I'd truly hate to upset that. It sounds like you and Robin are going to have your hands full once you get up the the hunting lodge and–"

"We'll have more than enough help there," Regina says plainly. "We've gone without a nanny before."

"Well, I'd like to think I'm a step up from Celeste."

"You _are_. My boys adore you," Regina tells her as a giggle rises into her voice. "Henry is fairly certain you're a dragon, too."

At that, she laughs. "I… might've encouraged that."

"They love it."

"They're sweet boys," Mal tells her. "I don't think I've thanked you enough for bringing me here."

"I'm just glad that you accepted," she admits, remembering how she dreaded the initial task of finding a nanny or a tutor for Henry, and eventually Roland. "And as glad as we are to have you, they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I'm sure the boys will be overjoyed to see you."

Mal's eyes narrow, and she laughs a little. "Whomever said that was full of it, but I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless."

"So, you'll go?" Regina asks hopefully. "You'll go to the reading of Rose's will?"

For a moment, Mal stands there, twisting the ribbon of her hat between her fingers–and the she nods. "I will."

"And if you need any more–"

"I'll write."

"You'd better write either way," Regina insists as a little grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Someone once told me that I didn't have to go through difficult things alone, and I wish I'd have listened. I'd have been much better off if I had."

Mal sighs. "That someone sounds awfully nosy and–"

"Caring," Regina cuts in. "It was caring and I should've listened."

"You seem to be doing quite well for yourself, with or without the advice of such a nosy–but caring–friend."

Regina shrugs. Some days, she feels like that's true–that her life has worked itself out in a way that's let her find happiness again–but on others, it only feels like a weight bearing down on her shoulders, and she can't help but wonder when the happy bubble will burst and how painful it'll be when it eventually does.

"Alright then," Mal says as she draws in a breath. "I should be off if I expect to make it to the train station in time."

"You should take a coach. I can call down–"

"I want to walk," Mal cuts in. "I've got hours and hours before I actually have to leave, and the fresh air will be good for me." She nods and forces a smile. "It'll help me clear my head."

Nodding, Regina crosses the room and folds her arms around her. She wishes her luck and again insists that she writes once she knows something, then squeezes her a bit tighter before letting her go. Mal pulls back as Regina releases her and she ties on her hat before bending to pick up her carpet bag. As she goes, she smiles back at Regina, her smile faint and her eyes full of tears.

It takes her a minute to recover, her own throat tightening as she reminds herself that she has too much to do in too little time to let herself be overcome by emotion–and then, for the first time that she's conscious of, when she finds her thoughts betraying her and slipping back to the pain she knows comes with losing love, she finds herself thinking of Robin and not Daniel.

Drawing in a breath, she smooths her hand over her skirt and turns back to the desk, swallowing hard as she pushes away the nagging feeling at her core, instead focusing on Mal walking down the cobblestone path that leads from Sherwood to the road that that will take her into town. She grins as she watches Henry and Roland run toward her on the lawn, calling something out to her as they both wave wildly–and her heart flutters painfully as she watches Robin jog toward the boys, scooping them up and spinning them around as he redirects their attention back to their game.

She grins as she watches him set them down. There's a target pinned to a tree, spackled with red and blue dots of paint from where the boys' arrows have hit. It's painfully sweet the way Roland dips his arrow into the blue paint–so carefully–as Robin stands behind Henry, turning his shoulders and adjusting his stance, and as he steps back from him, Henry nods at something he's said. She watches as Robin's eyes narrow as his arms cross, and Henry takes in a breath before pulling the arrow back against the bow, his little eyes pinching shut as he lets it go, not watching it fly forward.

She doesn't realize what's happened until Robin is yelling and sweeping Henry up into his arms as Roland jumps up and down, cheering as blue paint goes flying–and finally, Henry's eyes open, and he smiles instantly as Robin points out the spot of red paint over the bullseye.

"Well, well," Zelena says as she saunters into the drawing room, craning her neck to look at Robin and Henry. "Isn't that sweet."

"It is," Regina says, turning to her as her jaw tightens. "Robin always is quite sweet when he plays with our sons."

"Our sons," Zelena repeats as a little chuckle rises into her voice. "Isn't that rich."

"It's… factual," Regina says, her eyes narrowing. "We're raising our sons together."

"Mm, that's an interesting way of putting it," Zelena tells her as she sits against the arm of a chair. "I assume that's what _he_ thinks you're doing."

"It's not?"

"Regina, we both know that you're just playing house. This is a game that's not meant to last. You're just… biding time."

" _We_ don't know that at all," Regina says. "He loves us."

"He thinks he does," Zelena counters. "Well, maybe he loves the boys, but…" She laughs out and shakes her head. "Do you really think any of it'll matter once he finds out who you really are?"

"He knows who I am."

"So you've told him?" Zelena asks, her brows arching up. "You've told him all of your dirty little secrets?"

Regina's jaw tightens and she doesn't reply–and even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to find her voice.

"I'll take that as a no."

"It… doesn't matter to him," she says, hating how weak she sounds. "He–"

"You _believe_ that?" Zelena asks, laughing as her eyes widen. "He only says that because he doesn't know." Sighing, she shakes her head and pushes herself up from the chair, wandering over to a plate of tea cakes set out on a table. "Besides that, he just feels sorry for you."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Zelena asks absently as she plucks one of the little cakes from the plate. "I can't blame him. Your story _is_ rather tragic. You went from the Belle of the Ball to… well… you know." She laughs as she looks back to her, and Regina feels her cheeks burning as her jaw, once again, tightens. "You conveniently only shared parts of your sob story. You took advantage of his grief–"

"I'd never–"

"You did, though," Zelena insists. "You knew that he was so wrought with grief he'd taken himself out of the social circuit and wasn't likely to know what everyone else does." She shrugs. "A pity, really."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Regina says, her voice shaky and betraying her. "I never lied to him about anything."

"But you haven't exactly been forthcoming and that, essentially, is the same thing."

"It's not. He was the one who wanted to marry me. It wasn't the other way around."

"Because he felt sorry for you–and your bast–"

"Don't!" Regina cuts in, her voice louder and less controlled than she'd hoped it would be as hot tears burn in her eyes. "You can say whatever you want about me. I don't care. But don't you dare utter a word against my son."

"Well, aren't you defensive," Zelena says, grinning and obviously pleased with herself as she nibbles at her cake. "Like you know that I'm right."

"Hardly," she says in a low voice, drawing in a breath in an effort to compose herself. "You know, it's not like you're completely innocent either. It's not like you don't have secrets of your own."

"Everyone has secrets," Zelena says. "It's just, unlike you, there isn't any proof of mine. You were careless and I covered my tracks–and given our histories, who's going to believe _you_ , a tainted woman, over _me_?" She shrugs and draws in a breath, slowly releasing it as her eyes lock with Regina's. "Well, not that this conversation hasn't been amusing, I've got to go and meet Richard. He's planned a carriage ride through the park. Isn't that sweet?"

"You don't care about him. You haven't cared about any of them."

"Again, that's my word against yours." A little laugh rises into her voice. "And we all know your word is nothing against mine."

Zelena says no more as turns out of the drawing room, laughing quietly to herself as she makes her way down the hall, leaving Regina standing there with teary eyes and burning cheeks.

It takes a moment for her to collect herself, and though she tries, she can't entirely push away Zelena's words or tell herself that Zelena's wrong–because, deep down, she doesn't believe that she is. Intentional or not, her marriage is built partially on a lie–and though it might not have started that way, she certainly hasn't made an effort to tell him the truth. It didn't matter that it terrified her or that she hadn't intended to lie to him. By this point, she'd had so many opportunities to tell him the whole truth about herself, and each time the opportunity arose, she'd chosen not to take advantage of it–she chose to protect herself over him. She'd let him fall in love with her and let herself fall in love with him–and now, there was simply too much on the line and too much time had passed.

Swallowing hard, she turns back to the window. The wooden bows and arrows sit abandoned on the grass, and the boys' hands are covered in paint–and, in turn, Robin is covered in red and blue handprints as he wrestles with them on the grass.

The worst part of holding onto her lie wasn't that it'd hurt her or that it'd hurt him, it was that it would hurt Henry, too, and the life she'd let him get used to–a life in which he was comfortable and happy, a life in which he felt safe and loved, where he had parents and a brother, where every day was a new and thrilling adventure filled with shooting arrows and protecting dragons–would come crashing down around him once again.

And this time, it'd be all her fault.

"Go on," Robin calls as he sets both boys down onto the bottom stair, grimacing slightly at their muddy shoes. "Go and change out of your clothes, I'll be up in a few minutes to clean the two of you up." He laughs when both boys pout–and then, gently, he pats their bottoms. "Go on–and try not to touch anything!"

He laughs as they agree in unison–and then no sooner than they do, Roland's blue hand wraps around the banister, leaving behind it a trail of paint. Shaking his head, he sighs as Henry plucks Roland's hand away from the banister and he grins as Roland's eyes widen–and he makes a mental note to send a maid after them before his father can throw a tantrum over a little paint and mud.

But before he does, he catches a glimpse of Regina in the drawing room, sitting a the desk by the window, writing a letter. Her hair is swept up and she's wearing a simple, white dress with lavender flowers all over it and a lavender ribbon beneath her bust. The sun is shining down on her and though her hair is neat and smoothed, he can see little wisps of curls forming at the back of her neck and at her temples.

"I'm not complaining about spending an afternoon with our sons," he begins as he steps into the room. "But I did miss spending it with you."

"Oh," she murmurs. "I've been caught up with… all sorts of things."

"Tell me."

Turning to him, she shrugs and he can see the tension in her shoulders and hints of red in her eyes. "It's all boring," she tells him. "Table linens and–"

"What happened?"

"Nothing," she says. "Mrs. Potter sent–"

"Not that."

"I don't know what you're talking about then. I've just been–"

"Regina," he cuts in as he moves toward her, and her voice to drops off as he leans against the desk. "Something's clearly bothering you."

"No," she says, drawing in a breath as she forces a smile. "I'm really fine. Just… a bit overwhelmed. There's a lot to do and very little time to do it."

"Can I help?"

Her brow arches and she laughs softly. "Unfortunately, I don't think my dress would fit properly if Ruby fitted it for you." Standing, she presses a kiss to his stubbly cheek and squeezes his hand. "I just… had a moment. I'm fine now."

"Promise?" 

She hesitates and then nods. "I promise."

"You sure?"

"I am."

"I love you, but I don't believe you."

At that, her brow arches and she looks curiously back at him. "Robin, I'm fine."

"You're not," he insists, shaking his head. "I can tell that you're not."

"Honestly–"

Drawing in a breath, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "Alright. Fine. If you don't want to talk about it, I won't force you to, but just know that if you change your mind, I'm here."

"I know," she says, grinning gently as he steps back. "I'm just… busy and off-schedule."

"Right. The dress fitting."

"Ruby's waiting for me upstairs."

He sighs and nods. "Do you want me to come up with you? I… have no idea what a dress-fitting entails, but I could watch Ruby pin fabric to you and tell you that you look beautiful."

She laughs a little at that and he grins. "I… think I heard something about the boys needing to be cleaned up," she reminds him. "Something about paint or mud or–"

"Both," he tells her, chuckling softly. "It's both."

"That's… probably more pressing," she tells him as a smile twists onto her lips. "And they look so cute when they're clean."

"They do," he agrees. "They really do."

He watches as she bites down on her lip and takes a breath, and for an all too brief moment, it looks like she might say something. But she doesn't. Instead, she just leans in presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Will you post my letter?"

"Hm?" He murmurs, takes aback by her question.

"My letter," she repeats, pointing to the desk. "It needs to be in the post by noon and I haven't the time to take it myself."

"Oh, of course."

"It's not too much trouble?" she asks, her eyes wide. "I could send—"

"I don't mind."

"Thank you."

Nodding, he looks to the stairs. "Isn't Ruby up there, waiting?"

Regina's eyes widen and she laughs out before hurrying toward the stairs, saying something beneath her breath that he can quite make out. He chuckles softly though as she runs up the stairs, her fingers skimming over a spot of blue paint as it slides up the banister, and an impossible-to-miss expletive falls from her lips.

Again, he chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to the desk and reaches for the letter. It's addressed to Mrs. Potter and on the backside of the envelope, she signed her name as _Mrs. Robin Locksley_. It wasn't new–its who she legally was–but she'd never claimed it or used it for herself. And somehow, seeing it in her her loose and loopy script struck a cord–there was such a permanence about it, an acceptance, a connection she'd only recently begun to acknowledge–and it makes him smile.

"There's mud all over the stairs, and apparently all over you."

Blinking, Robin turns to see his father standing at the threshold, red-faced and wide-eyed, pointing at the staircase behind him.

"Oh," Robin murmurs, turning to fully face him as he tucks Regina's letter into his breast pocket. "The boys were playing outside a–"

"At your mother's cottage?"

Robin's brow furrows. "On the lawn."

"The groundskeeper said there were footprints on the path leading to the cottage."

He blinks, still taken aback. "I went this morning," he admits. "Regina lost a hairpin and I thought–"

"Regina?"

"I took her the other day."

"You took _her_ to _your mother's_ cottage?" Richard's face grows redder, and he seems genuinely shocked and even hurt. "How could you do such a thing?"

"Roland found the key and I remembered enjoying it when I was little. I wanted to share that with my–"

"I can't believe you'd sully your mother's memory with _that woman_?"

"That woman is my wife," Robin retorts, his voice rising as heat flushes the back of his neck. "All we did was look at some old sketchbooks and wait out a storm. It's not like we torched the place. It's hardly been ruined."

"She should have _never_ been there."

"Why?" Robin asks, his jaw tense and his voice full of indignation. "Why can't I bring her there?"

"It's personal."

"She was my mother, you know, and I wanted to share the little bit I have left of her with someone I love."

At that, Richard scoffs and looks away. "Love," he mutters. "It's not love between you. It's lust."

Robin sighs as his head falls back in frustration. He knows there's no use in arguing. His father's mind was made up before he even met Regina, and in the months she'd lived with them at Sherwood, he'd only dug in deeper and held on more tightly to his assumptions. He didn't know her and he didn't want to know her, and he seemed content in his hatred for her–though, Robin couldn't understand any of it.

"I wish you'd give her a chance," he says, his voice more sad than angry. "I wish you'd get to know her and see her for who she is."

"I know _exactly_ who she is."

"You don't," Robin says, shaking his head. "You don't know anything about her."

"I know enough," he scoffs. " _More_ than enough."

"No," Robin sighs. "You don't know what a good mother she is. You don't know how caring she is, how empathetic she is or how smart and resourceful she is or how courageous she's been. You don't know–"

"Courageous," Richard says, snickering to himself. "That puts an interesting spin on things." Robin's lips part, ready to argue, but Richard laughs out. His face is still red and his eyes are still angry, and his laugh drips with hate. "I'm sure that's what she'd have you believe."

"Quite the contrary," he murmurs in reply, thinking of how self-deprecating Regina can be. "She'd never be so flattering of herself."

"Hm," Richard scoffs, bristling and obviously not listening. "That's how that whole family is, you know–all of them, especially her mother." Robin tries to cut in and tries to disagree, trying to insist that Regina is nothing like her mother, but his father's voice grows louder and more erratic, and he doesn't even seem to notice Robin's attempt to speak. "Never owning up to their sins, always pushing off the blame… deceptive and rewarded for it."

"Regina's never been rewarded," he manages. "That's hardly true."

Richard's eyes harden, finally meeting Robin's. "Isn't it, though?"

"Whatever issues you have with Cora or–"

"Just take a look, Robin," Richard spats, his voice rising. "Open your eyes! Your so-called wife is no more than a common whore and she's been rewarded by–"

"Shut up!" Robin cuts in, his voice rising up over his father as his cheeks flush red and his hands clench into tight fists. "I won't allow you to talk about her that way."

"Allow me?" Richard scoffs. "But everyone does."

"That's–"

"Entirely true," Richard says as though pointing out the obvious. "But that's not the point."

"Then what is?" Robin asks, his voice low. "Because–"

"The point is that you married her to spite me, and you're too caught up in your lust to realize that marrying her was never just an insult to me. It's an insult to your mother." Richard's eyes roll and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of gloves. "You'll realize that eventually."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Such foul language," Richard says, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in admonishment. "You–"

"Fuck you," Robin spits out, his cheeks burning with anger as he turns on his heels, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between himself and his father before he did or said something that couldn't be taken back.

He'd needed some time to cool down, and Henry and Roland provided him just that.

He'd found them in the nursery, both sitting on Roland's bed with a Noughts and Crosses board between them, wearing nothing but their undergarments. They're still muddy and covered in paint, but its now dried and flaking off. He sighs as his eyes fall to the blanket beneath his son, now dirty and in need of a washing, but he can't bring himself to be annoyed as he watches Roland holding onto one of the little wooden X's. It looks so big, nestled between his thumb and forefinger, and he looks so serious as he stares down at the board, trying to select the best spot to drop the X.

Henry sighs and crosses his arms impatiently, and a little chuckle rises up into Robin's chest. "I want to play," he says, stepping into the nursery and grinning as Henry's head falls back. "It looks fun."

"It _should_ be fun," Henry tells him. "But Roland's taking for-ev-er."

Roland's eyes widen as he looks up. "I always lose. I don't want to lose this time."

"You can't lose if you never finish the game," Henry says, looking to Robin. "But you can't win either."

Roland pouts as Robin reaches for Henry, lifting him up from the bed and sitting down in his spot before wrapping his arms around him and pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm going to help him," he whispers. "Just this once." He grins when Henry nods and leans back against his chest. "How about top left?"

Roland's brow creases. "Henry's already got an O there."

" _Other_ left, son," Robin says, pointing to the board, grinning as Henry giggles and Roland's eyes light up and a soft _ooooooh_ escapes him. "There you go."

Henry leans forward and after a couple of seconds, he drops down his O and leans back again, this time, tipping back his head and offering Robin and not-so-subtle wink in acknowledgement of his poorly placed marker. His eyes widen as Roland focuses on the board, staring at it for several minutes before slowly placing down his X in the spot where Henry should have placed his O.

"I won," he murmurs to himself, his voice barely audible. "I won! I got three in a row!" Robin laughs as Roland presses his hands together and Henry congratulates him. "Can we play again?"

Sighing, Robin shakes his head. "I'm sorry, no."

"But–"

"I have to get the two of you washed up because–"

"Grandpa will be sour?"

He grins–there's something sad about Roland's assumption. "No," he murmurs. "I promised Regina I'd have the two of you cleaned up by dinner, and you know, she likes it when the two of you are clean and presentable."

"She sniffs my hair whenever I've just had it washed," Roland tells him. "She likes it."

Henry giggles. "She used to tell me that she liked me best after my baths."

"I don't think there's a version of you she doesn't like," Robin tells him, lifting him from his lap and setting his feet down on the floor. "But, I think it would be nice if we cleaned off all the mud and paint, and washed and combed your hair and put you in your best clothes and–"

"Like a surprise?"

"Exactly," Robin says, nodding at Henry. "And who knows, maybe there's a surprise in it for the two of you, as well."

"I like surprises," Roland says, hopping off the bed. "What's the surprise?"

"It won't be a surprise if he tells us."

"Oh… right…"

Laughing, Robin gets up from the bed and rings the bell, and a few minutes later, John is standing in the doorway. Robin asks for some fresh, warmed water in the boys' pitcher and basin and some clothes. When John returns with the requested items, he reaches into his pocket and hands him Regina's letter, asking him to make sure it gets into the noon post. John nods and disappears, and Robin spends the better part of the next hour wiping mud and paint from both boys. He washes their hair and cleans behind their ears, and when they're all dried off he clips their nails and combs their hair.

For the most part, Henry can dress himself, but Roland still needs help–and his heart practically melts when Henry squats in front of Roland to help him with the buttons on his vest.

When both boys are finally dressed, Roland picks up a picture book from his nightstand and shows it to Henry–and once again, his heart flutters as both boys climb into Henry's bed and cuddle up on either side of Henry's dragon. Henry opens the book and he and Roland flip through the pages, and while he can't tell if Henry's reading a story or making one up based on the pictures, the scene in front of his is nothing short of adorable.

Remembering Roland's dirty bedding, he rings the bell for a maid, and then, after several minutes pass, he rings it again and then again–and after the third ring, he realizes that no maid is on her way up to the nursery because with Mal out for the day, they assume it's Regina calling and not him.

His jaw tightens and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck, and all of the anger and frustration he'd felt with his father comes rushing back. The boys don't seem to notice the change in his demeanor. He presses quick kisses to their foreheads and reminds them not to wrinkle their clothes too much before excusing himself–and though he sets out in the direction of the servants hall, ready to ream the first maid he spots, he finds himself standing just outside his own bedroom door.

It's cracked open and he can see Regina standing on a little platform. Her arms are stretched out at her sides, and Ruby is pinning yards of crimson fabric to her as Belle holds the spool, looking a bit unsure as she cuts along a chalked-on line.

There's another ivory bolt on the bed and a spool of creamy lace behind it, and though he can't at all foresee what the dress will look like or how the pieces will come together, he can say with absolute certainty that Regina will be stunning in it.

He grins as his eyes shift back to her as she tips up her chin and holds her arms a bit higher–and there's something about her pose that looks so regal.

"Wow," he murmurs as he pushes open the door and steps into the room. "You look…"

Regina's cheeks flush as she looks to him, a bit startled. "I must look like a mess right now."

"Quite the contrary."

"It's just so warm and–" She stops as Ruby sucks in a breath. "I'm supposed to be still."

Ruby's eyes widen a little and her cheeks flush. "Oh, it's not th–"

"It _is_ that important," Regina cuts in, not allowing Ruby to finish as she looks back to the mirror and tips her chin back up as her shoulders square. "I've given you a nearly impossible to meet deadline, so the least I can do is not make the process any more difficult."

"I… may have bit off a little more than I can chew," Ruby admits, looking to Robin. "But if I pull this off, she's going to take everyone's breath away."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Robin says, grinning as he crosses the room. "And no offense to you or the dress–because I am sure that it'll be absolutely gorgeous–but she generally has that effect… on me, at least."

He watches as Regina's eyes roll. "Leave it to me to choose such an intricate pattern for a dress I need in two days."

"My grandmother could probably do it," Ruby says, sighing as she kneels down at Regina's side and looks to Belle. "Can you hand me the lace? I don't have much of it, so I can't make any mistakes."

"I want you to do it, though," Regina says. "Your grandmother is talented, but I've _loved_ everything you've made for me." Ruby looks up and their eyes meet in the mirror, and Ruby offers an appreciative smile. "You've even managed to make me love some of my older things that I never found very thrilling."

"You flatter me."

"Well, you deserve it," Regina tells her, looking back to the mirror. "But maybe we should call in reinforcements."

Ruby frowns. "My grandmother."

"I just–"

"If you had the days we're meant to travel as days you could work, could you get the dress done?"

Ruby nods. " _If_ I had those days, of course, but I don't." 

"You could, though," Robin says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You could come with us."

Ruby's eyes widen and he can't help but notice the way Belle's face lights up with hope. Grinning, his eyes shift to Regina. "We're already taking up a second carriage, and there's more than enough room at the hunting lodge."

"You won't get any complaints from me."

"Could your grandmother spare you?" Belle asks, looking from Robin to Ruby. "They're not planning to be gone for more than a week and–"

Ruby laughs. "Mrs. Locksley is my only customer. Otherwise, all I do is cut out patterns and patch up old dresses." She shrugs. "And I'd love a chance to get away for awhile."

"Well, that's a relief," Regina says, carefully turning herself around on the stepping stool. "But if you're going to come with us, I insist you call me Regina."

"Oh, but–"

Belle giggles. "It's a thing with her. You'll get used to it."

"She's right," Regina nods. "You will, and now that you don't have to work on this dress 'round the clock, you should take a break."

"Absolutely," Robin says as he rises up from the bed. "Both of you should, and we'll work out the logistics of it all."

Ruby drops her chalk into her sewing basket, and Belle reaches for her hand, tugging her out of the room and down the hall. Laughing softly to himself, he crosses the room toward Regina and hooks an arm around her waist, lifting her up off of the stepping stool and spinning her around as he pecks her lips.

"We're taking quite the entourage."

"We are," she says, sighing as he sets her down. "Perhaps this is too much. We just keep adding–"

"If you're about to suggest we back out of the Harvest Ball, I need to remind you that isn't an option."

"It is, though."

"You've put too much work into it."

Her brow arches. "By writing letters?"

"Regina…"

"What if we're not back in time?"

"For Zelena's dinner party?" He shrugs. "I can't even begin to tell you how unconcerned I am about that."

"But _I_ am."

Sighing, he shakes his head. "And for the life of me, I can't understand why." A sly little grin edges onto his lips. "In fact, I am very much hoping we don't make it back. I'm not much of a fan of dinner parties, and much less interested in one hosted in my own home by Zelena Greene… and, besides that, I'm sure we could find something much better to do that evening."

"Oh? Could we?"

"Of course."

"And what would we do instead?"

He chuckles softly as his free hand adjust a piece of lace that's beginning to droop. "Well, I'm not sure, exactly, but I'd never pass up an opportunity for some alone time with you."

Regina's eyes roll and she giggles softly. "Considering the entourage we've just discussed, we'll hardly ever be alone." And then she tenses. "But I really don't want to be late or miss that dinner."

"Why though?" he asks, his fingers pressing into the small of her back. "You wanting to attend that dinner party seems completely masochistic, and you typically avoid my father and Zelena like they're infected with the plague."

"I… don't want to give your father any more reason to be upset with me."

His chest tightens as her eyes fall away. "He's not up-"

"He's perpetually upset with me."

"I am unconcerned with my father's feelings."

She shrugs. "It puts you in an uncomfortable position, though, always having to defend–"

"You're worth defending."

"It has to be tiring, though. It's constant–" Her eyes press closed and she draws in a breath. "I heard… the fight you had with him."

"Fight? Today?"

She nods as her eyes open. "You had to defend–"

"He was out of line."

Sighing, she turns away from him and sits on the edge of the bed. "You can't deny that I have a certain reputation."

"I don't care."

"He does."

"It's not his place to care."

"But it is," she says in a small voice. "I… made the choices that I did, and I have to live with the judgements that come with them." She shrugs, and he watches as she curls a scrap of fabric between her fingers. "Sometimes, I think I'm fooling myself, thinking I can really be your wife."

"You _are_ my wife, Regina."

"I know," she says, nodding. "But… I…I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of this."

Once more his chest tightens, and he lets out a shaky breath as he moves toward her. "That's not true," he tells her as he sits down beside her. "And I'd give you the world if I could."

A meek little smile edges onto her lips as she looks over at him, but it quickly fades. "I never cared much about my reputation," she says, her voice distant as she stares off at nothing in particular. "I was going to marry Daniel and we were going to build a life and a family, and it didn't matter much to me that we'd done things out of order." She shrugs. "And then he was gone and I had a toddler, and I couldn't even get a job as a scullery maid because… everyone knew."

Reaching out, he pulls the fabric away from her hands and folds his fingers around her wrist, rubbing his thumb gently over her skin. "That's all over now."

She nods. "Because of you." He grins softly as she pauses to take a breath. "You swept in out of nowhere and you were sweet and kind, and you never treated my son like he was responsible for my sins…and, even though it was hard for me to admit to you and to myself, I couldn't help but love you for that."

"It wasn't such a one-way road."

Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head. "You could have married anyone."

"I didn't want to marry _anyone_."

"Someone more worthy–"

"Regina–"

"Someone who isn't exactly what your father said I am."

"No," he murmurs. "You're not–"

"Robin," she cuts in, her eyes wide and teary. "I don't ever want you to look back and regret marrying me."

"I could never."

He edges closer as his arm drapes around her shoulder, and he's glad that she doesn't pull away. Instead, her head falls to his shoulder and she lets him hold her, lets him comfort her–and then it occurs to him that, perhaps, there's more that he can do to set her mind at ease, and though it'll be difficult at the start, it might relieve her future moments like this.

"Alright," he begins, drawing in a breath as he presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. "There's really something we should talk about, something I should've brought up a long time ago."

Her head lifts from his shoulder, and it hurts to see the way she looks at him. The color drains from her face, and her eyes fill with fear and before he can say anymore or try to reassure her, the door opens and she pulls away from him–pulls away as if they'd been doing something wrong.

"M'lady," Belle says, peeking in. "I am sorry to interrupt, but I thought you'd like to know that your parents have just arrived."

"What?"

"Just now, M'lady."

He watches as Regina's eyes sink closed. "Of course they have."

Belle shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. "I should probably help you to change into something more…"

"Oh," Regina breathes out, looking down at herself as her cheeks flush. "You're probably right. I'm a mess."

"Hardly," Robin says, as a little grin edges onto his lips as he looks to Belle. "Can you give us a few more minutes, though… maybe find out if they're staying for dinner or just for tea?"

"Of course."

He waits until the door closes before he reaches for her, pulling her up against his chest and holding her close. He rests his chin atop her head and rubs her back, and he can't help but smile as she leans into him–and for several minutes, they stay just like that.

"What were you going to say?" she asks, not pulling away. "Before Belle came in."

"Nothing," he says. "Or, at least nothing that needs to be said right now."

"Oh…"

"The important part is that I love you, and that my father is wrong." She pulls back and their eyes meet, and she looks ready to protest, but he shakes his head. "No matter what you've done, he doesn't know anything about it, not really."

"But–"

"He's wrong."

It takes a moment, but she nods–and then, a hint of a grin edges onto her lips. "I love you, too."

By the time Regina makes it down to the drawing room to greet her parents, Cora is sitting alone. Her chin is tipped up and her arms are crossed–and Regina feels her stomach sink at the realization that her mother is dressed for dinner.

"I'm sorry to have kept you," she says a bit awkwardly as she comes into the room. "I was in the middle of having a dress fitted and–"

"People are talking about that, you know."

Her brow furrows. "About my dress?"

"Your seamstress," Cora says, clicking her tongue. "There are _rumors_ about her."

"Oh, I… I didn't know," Regina replies, shrugging her shoulders as she sits down, very unconcerned with whatever gossip her mother's heard. "The dresses she's made for me are absolutely–"

"Really, Regina? Is that all you care about?" Cora cuts in, her voice sharp and her brow creased. "Must you always create a scandal wherever you go?"

Regina blinks as her shoulders tense. She knows all about the rumors that involve her favorite seamstress and her ladies' maid, but, of course, she could never admit that to her mother. But she meant it when she said she didn't care what people said. Belle and Ruby were a sweet pair, and they'd never been anything other than kind to her–and, of course, it was never entirely lost on her that they were _paid_ to be kind to her, it was more than others could manage and it always seemed genuine.

And there were so few people she could say that about.

"She's talented."

Cora's eyes roll. "Oh, Regina. You're hopeless."

Clearing her throat, she tries to push aside her hurt feelings, not wanting to let her mother see how upset she is–or that her hurt feelings had little to do with her mother's lack of approval over her seamstress and maid's love affair.

"Belle said that Daddy was here, too," she says, wanting to shift the subject away from any scandal she was directly or indirectly involved. "Is he–"

"Upstairs," Cora sighs. "Probably getting his clothes all wrinkled, rolling on the floor like he's a child himself."

That brings a smile to her face as she thinks about her father playing in the nursery with her sons. "They love when he visits."

"He spoils them."

"He's their grandfather. That's–"

"He's only the grandfather to one of them."

Her shoulders tense and she feels anger bubbling up from her core–which, in some ways, is a relief. "I don't think small children make such distinctions."

Cora's eyes roll. "If they're raised properly, they do."

Again, her jaw tightens. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Here?" Cora asks, "Oh, no. Lady Tremaine invited us up for the night, and your father insisted on stopping here first."

A little smile draws onto her lips. "Did he?"

Cora doesn't respond to the obviously rhetorical question, but instead shrugs, absently as she looks away from her daughter, making it completely obvious that she'd rather be anywhere other than visiting with her daughter and grandsons at Sherwood.

"I'm sure they're glad to see him for a bit," Regina hears herself say, not really wanting to continue the conversation, but wanting to fill the silence before it grows awkward. "They always love seeing him." Cora sighs, clearly bored as she looks back to Regina. "And I'm glad they had the chance to see him before we leave."

"Leave? You're going somewhere?"

"The hunting lodge," Regina says. "It's up–"

"I know where it is," Cora says, her voice tense as her shoulders square. "Such a dreadful little town, and if I remember, such a dank and cramped little house."

"We like it," Regina says, shrugging her shoulders as her mother's reply seeps in, and her brow furrows. "You've… been to the house?"

"Once or twice," Cora says. "I never felt the urge to go back."

"I can't wait," she admits. "We're going up for the Harvest Ball."

Something flashes in her mother's eyes and suddenly, she looks interested. "Are you?"

"Just for a couple of days, though. Really, it's just for the party, but–"

"Oh, how tacky. You can't just throw something like that together on a whim, Regina. Not if you want to be taken seriously."

Regina shrugs. "We think it'd be a nice little get-away and the staff up at the house is doing most of the work."

"The staff," Cora repeats, narrowing her eyes. "I seem to remember a pudgy little kitchen maid who was particularly off-putting." A little grin edges onto to her mother's lips. "I used to call her Ducky."

Regina's blinks and considers. "Mrs. Beakley?"

"Beakley," Cora says, nodding. "What a miserable little woman and such a stupid name."

"She's sweet," Regina says, feeling a bit defensive. "She's the head cook there now, and–"

"The head cook? In an empty household?" Cora scoffs, not waiting to hear the rest of what Regina planned to say. "How rich."

"Well, she's always willing to help with the boys, and they adore her. Which is quite a relief since, once again, we'll be going up there without a nanny, and Robin and I will be quite busy."

Cora's eyes widen. "What's happened to your nanny now?"

"Nothing, she just… had a personal matter that needed attending."

"Servants aren't supposed to have personal matters to attend to."

"That's… completely unrealistic. They're people. They have lives."

"No," Cora says, shaking her head. "They're servants, and cozying up to them will do _you_ no favors." Regina's brow creases. She can't quite find the insult in her mother's words, but she's sure it's there and she's sure that it was meant to sting. "Regina, honestly. If you want to be treated as the Lady of the House, you need to start acting like one."

"I won't be rude to people who have been nothing but kind to me."

Cora's eyes roll. "You're just like your father."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Regina says, her shoulders stiffening and her jaw tipping up. "For all his faults, he's a good man."

Again, Cora's eyes roll. "Well, I am sure that Zelena Greene will not have qualms about acting the part and will waste no time in swooping in and stealing your place."

"If she wants to be the Mistress of Sherwood, I won't stop her. I don't like it, but I don't want to be–"

"Listen to yourself, Regina!" Cora cuts in, her voice angrier than it is annoyed. "You can't afford to take opportunities for granted, and at some point, your looks and charm are going to fade and, at some point, your husband will start to see you as more of a burden than–"

"He loves me," she cuts in, her voice weaker than she'd hoped it'd be. "And I love him."

"Love fades and eventually, he's going to get tired of your damsel in distress routine."

"It's not–"

"You need to give him a reason to keep you," Cora says as she rises up from her chair. "This is your last chance, Regina. Don't get caught up in fantasies and fairytales. For once in your life, be realistic."

"I am–"

"You really think he'd love you if he knew more than just your sob story?"

Regina's eyes widen as she looks up at her mother, watching as she crosses the room to the window and tugs at the silk rope behind the drapes to call for a servant. It occurs to her that she should try to defend herself–to defend her marriage–but she isn't quite sure what she could say, and even if she had the words, she couldn't find her voice.

And, she'd hate to give her mother yet another reason to say I told you so.

They remain in silence until one of the maids comes and Cora tells her to go upstairs and fetch her husband. Then with one quick and disapproving look at Regina, she tells the maid to inform him that she's already waiting in the carriage.

Her head falls forward as she hears the latch on the door open and then close, and she rubs at her temples. She's on the verge of tears as her mother's words swim around her head as she thinks of her earlier conversation with Robin, and all he doesn't know–and all that he thinks he does.

Her mother was right, he did only know the parts of her story that were easy to empathize with–the part about a young girl who'd fallen in love and threw away everything for it, the part about a young mother who'd lost her husband and was all alone in the world, a woman who'd made mistakes that anyone with a romantic heart might understand.

The rest, she'd kept hidden.

She'd come close to telling him a couple of times, and there'd been a time that she'd wanted to tell him because she thought it might mean she didn't have to marry him.

But she missed her chance, and she'd been glad for it.

And now, she was lying to him by omission.

She startles when he comes into the drawing room and she tenses as he sits down beside her, and when she finally looks over at him, it breaks to heart to find his eyes so soft and full of love.

"It couldn't have been that bad," he says, chuckling softly as he takes her hand. "She wasn't here more than a half an hour." 

"Seeing her is always _that bad_."

"I'm sorry I left you to suffer her, though. Your father made much better company."

At that, she grins. "He usually does."

"Can I make it up to you?"

Blinking, she shakes her head. "There's nothing to make up."

Robin's eyes narrow and he grins. "Fine, then I want to do something special tonight just for the hell of it."

Her brow arches. "For the hell of it?"

"Yes," he nods. "I've already got the boys all dressed up. What would you say to dinner in town?"

"You… want to go out?"

"Why not?"

"Because we're making a habit of it."

"So what?" he counters. "It's better than staying here and with dull company and bland food." He gives her hand a little squeeze. "It'll be fun and it'll give us a chance to talk."

Her mouth goes dry as she remembers where their earlier conversation seemed to be leading. "Oh, I don't–"

"I'm curious about your plans."

"Plans?" she asks, blinking. "What plans?"

"For the Harvest Ball," he says easily. "That letter felt awfully thick."

"Oh," she murmurs, her cheeks flushing. "Right." 

She considers, and she has to admit, it does sound nice to get away from Sherwood for awhile and spend some times alone with Robin, Henry and Roland–and, it occurs to her that no one likely cares about the amount of time any of them spend away from Sherwood.

"Can we take the boys to the park?" she asks. "I know it's getting colder, but I think they'd–"

"Of course," he nods, not waiting for her explanation. "I'd like that."

"Me too," she admits as he leans in excitedly and presses a quick kiss to her cheek–and she finds herself giggling as his scruff tickles her cheek and his arm loops around her, pulling to him as thoughts of her mother and Zelena and all her carefully kept secrets fade from the forefront of her mind.

They'd set out early that evening, arriving at the park with more than enough time for the boys to play and for them to watch the sun beginning to set. He'd held her hand as they walked on a path along the pond and he listened to her tell him all about the centerpieces and the dinner menu for the Harvest Ball. Instead of a piano that guests could take a turn at, she'd hired a string quartet that frequently played at a local tavern to provide live music. There'd be carnival-type games set-up for the town's children, candied apples for them to eat, and hayrides that gave tours of the estate's grounds.

The details of the ball hardly mattered to him, but he liked listening to her tell him about them, and the more she talked about, the more excited she seemed and the more he found himself wishing they could leave right then and there and not wait until the next morning.

Eventually, they'd ended up at the tavern and ordered their dinner. The boys sat on one side of the table and he and Regina sat across from them, and he couldn't help but laugh at the way Roland could barely see over the top of the table or at the way they smiled in unison when they asked for ice cream instead of pheasant stew. Regina's initial response had been a firm _no_ , and they'd both pouted for a moment before changing their request to raspberry cordial, and again, they received a firm _no_ in reply and that time it was accompanied by a warning look that told them both not to ask again.

And then, he'd ordered some wine.

The more Regina drank, the looser her stance on sugary treats became, and by the end of the night, the boys were washing down their vanilla ice cream with a too-large glass of raspberry cordial.

"I think I'm drunk," Regina says as her head falls to his shoulder. "I had too much wine."

"There's no such thing," Robin tells her as he pulls her closer to him. "But yes, you're drunk."

"I don't know how that happened," she tells him. "I only had one glass."

At that, he chuckles. "Technically."

She lifts her head and he grins. Her eyes look tired and she's smiling hazily. "What?"

"Well, I… might've just kept it full for you."

"Oh," she murmurs, her brow creasing. "I didn't realize."

Reaching out, he tucks a few straying standings of hair behind her ear and lets his fingers linger at her jaw. They'd been having such a nice evening away from Sherwood, and it'd been such a contrast to her mood from earlier in the day. He'd wanted to keep it going and he'd reasoned that she deserved a stress and worry-free evening, and he knew a crisp Riesling was the way to ensure that.

She giggles and lays her head back down, and again, he squeezes her a little closer as she yawns–and then he hears a faint little snore escape her.

Laughing softly to himself, he looks at the boys sleeping on the bench across from him and then to Regina sleeping on him, and he can't help but consider himself lucky, knowing he'll have them all to himself for the next few days.

Finally, the carriage pulls up to the front entrance of Sherwood, and John opens the door to them. He chuckles softly as he reaches first for Roland and then for Henry, and carefully, Robin gets out of the carriage before scooping up Regina. John's brow arches when she doesn't stir at the jarring movements, and Robin only chuckles as he carries her into the house.

"Just lay them in bed," Robin says as he starts toward the stairs. "I'm going to set Regina down in our room, and then I'll come and tuck them in, and then I'll go back to tuck her in."

John only chuckles and nods as he follows him up the stairs, then turns in the direction of the nursery. Robin turns the opposite way, carrying her down the long hallway to their bedroom, and once inside, he gently lays her down on her side of the bed. He sits down on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her as he strokes her hair as she snores lightly.

There's a part of him that wishes they could have carried on with the conversation they'd just been starting when her parents arrived. It'd have been long and hard, but in the end, he wonders if it would've been able to ease her mind or at least make her feel a bit more secure in their marriage. All too often, she seemed to think that something was going to mess up what they had–or rather, that she'd already messed up what they had– and he hated that she lived way. Day in and day out, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was waiting for it all to fall apart, for her heart to be broken as some sort of penance for the sins she felt she was meant to pay for. She had him on a pedestal that he didn't deserve, and more than anything he wanted to knock himself off of it and prove to her that she wasn't the lesser in their relationship.

"I'll be right back," he whispers, leaning in and brushing a fluttering kiss to her cheek.

He takes a breath before leaving her to make his way to the nursery to change the boys into their night clothes and wash them up before bed.

Grinning, he pushes into the room to find that lamps lit and a fresh pitcher of water and some clean cloths folded up in the basin–and Henry sitting up in his bed.

"I'm excited for tomorrow," Henry says as he holds up his arms so that Robin can pull off his shirt. "I like going to the lodge."

"Me too," Robin tells him, grinning as he pulls off the shirt, then helps him out of his pants. "Even if it is quite a ways away."

"I like traveling, too."

"You do?" Robin's brow arches as he pours some water into the basin before dipping in the cloth. "Can you stand up?"

Henry nods as he climbs out of bed. "I like looking at all the stuff we pass."

"It's mostly just countryside," Robin tells him as he wipes the cloth over one of Henry's arms. "Just trees and grass and the occasional farm."

"I know, but I like to make up stories about it."

"About traveling."

Henry nods as Robin dips the cloth back into the water, then wipes it over his other arm. "Or the stuff we pass."

"Oh," he murmurs as a little smile draws onto his lips. "I wish I'd known."

"Why?"

"Well, we could've gotten you a travel journal so you could write them down."

"Really?" Henry asks as Robin sponges the cloth over his chest and shoulders. "Like a real adventurer?"

Robin grins. "Like a real adventurer," he agrees. "Maybe we'll get you one on the way back." He laughs softly as Henry's eyes widen. "We'll check out the General Store in town. They have everything." He offers Henry a wink. "Now, turn."

Henry does as he's told and Robin swipes the cloth over his back and down his legs, and a little chuckle rises up from him as he looks back at Roland, who's fast asleep with his head pressed hard into his pillow and his fingers in his mouth while drool dribbles down his chin.

"Hey," Robin murmurs as he reaches for a clean cloth, gently turning Henry to face him. "Will you tell your mom if I don't wash Roland up tonight?" Henry considers, then shakes his head. "Good," Robin says, handing him a fresh cloth. "Wash your face while I get a nightshirt for you."

"Arlight," Henry says easily as he turns to the basin as Robin moves to his wardrobe. "Could I have a quill, too?" Robin blinks as he looks over at Henry, who looks back at him with wide and hopeful eyes. "You know, the ones that come in the little wooden boxes and have a little ink-well that covers it up?"

Henry chews at his lip, and he can tell that Henry thinks he's asked for too much. Plucking two nightshirts from the wardrobe, a grin curls onto Robin's lips. "Well, I think it's a must," he says very matter-of-factly as he tries not to chuckle. "After all, you can't have a travel journal without a travel pen, and if I just had you write with one of the regular inkwells, I'm sure the carriage would be covered in ink."

"Mama wouldn't be happy if I was covered in ink."

"No," Robin agrees as he moves back to Henry. "She wouldn't be, and I much prefer it when she's happy rather than cross."

"Me too," Henry says, lifting his arms and letting Robin drop the nightshirt over his head. "That's why I like you."

Robin blinks. "What?"

"You make my mama happy."

"Do I?" he asks, his voice almost cracking as his head meets Henry's. "You think I make her happy?"

Henry nods. "She laughs now, and she smiles more, and I don't feel bad when I ask her for things." He grins. "I used to like to sleep in her bed."

"Oh," Robin murmurs. "Do you miss that?"

Henry shrugs. "I like my room here and my toys, and that I have someone to play with all of the time." He takes a breath and sits on the edge of the bed, then looks back up at Robin. "I didn't know how to stop her from crying." Robin swallows hard as Henry grins. "I don't think she cries anymore at night."

"No," he says, clearing his throat. "She doesn't."

"I'm glad."

"You know, Henry," Robin says as he kneels down in front of him. " _You_ make your mother happy."

"But now I'm not the only one."

He swallows the hard lump at the back of his throat and presses a kiss to Henry's forehead. "I love you, Henry, and just so you know, I'm very glad that you like it here."

Henry grins and he lays back against his pillow, letting Robin draw the blanket up around him before he rolls onto his side and watches as Robin quickly changes Roland and tucks him in.

"Do you want a story?" Robin asks, turning back to Henry. "I know your mama usually reads to you." 

"I'm too tired," Henry tells him, his voice fainter.

"That's probably for the best. We've got to be up extra early tomorrow to make sure all of our trunks are loaded into the carriages."

"We can't forget that one," Henry says, pointing to a little trunk at the foot of his bed. "That one's important."

Robin blinks. "I thought Mal already packed–"

"Roland and I packed that one," Henry tells him. "It's for my dragon."

A grin pulls onto Robin's lips. "Your dragon has his own trunk?"

"Yes," Henry tell him, as if it should be obvious. "He has things he can't forget."

Bending in front of the trunk, Robin twists the latch and flips open the trunk. He can't help but laugh as he looks into the trunk, finding it loaded up with books and games, and other toys the boys like to play with.

"Just the necessities," Henry says, yawning as he rolls onto his other side and cuddles his dragon.

"We won't forget it then," he tells him, closing the trunk and fastening the latch before blowing out the lamps. "Good night, Henry."

"G'night."

Chuckling softly, he pulls closed the door and shakes his head–and when he looks up, he finds John lingering a few yards away. "Is everything alright, Sir?"

"Perfect," Robin nods. "Um, there is one more trunk we'll be taking, though."

"Oh?"

"It's at the foot of Henry's bed."

"I'll grab it first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, and I think this one is going to need to be close to us."

"It'll be the top one on the back of your carriage," John says easily. "Do you need help changing?"

"No," Robin says, yawning as he shakes his head. "Regina's already asleep and I don't want to wake her."

"Fair enough. Is there anything else before I go up to bed, then?"

Robin starts to shake his head but stops. "Actually, do we have any leather-bound journals laying around?"

"Like a writing journal?" John asks, his brow furrowing as he considers. "I believe there are a few in the library."

"Good," Robin says with a grin. "I've got a few traveling pen sets in my office, I think."

"Would you like me to go and look?"

"No," Robin says, shaking his head. "I'll look in the morning."

John's brow furrows. "Are you looking to do some writing while we're traveling?"

"No," he murmurs, as he thinks of the story Henry told Roland earlier that day, "but I think Henry's interested, and I rather like the idea of him getting to record his stories." He shrugs as a grin twists onto his lips. "Who knows, he might grow up to pen the next _Robinson Crusoe_."

John laughs and nods. "Who knows."

"Good night."

"Good night, sir," John says, nodding as he turns toward the stairs.

Robin turns the opposite way, undoing his tie and cufflinks as he goes. When he reaches their bedroom, he goes in quietly and drops the cufflinks onto the dressing table before tossing his tie onto the chair, and as he starts to unbutton his vest, he sees Regina's reflection in the mirror.

She's sitting up and her eyes are open, and she's changed into a nightdress.

"I thought you'd be asleep."

"I was," she says. "I woke up and you weren't here, and… I don't like falling asleep without you." He grins as he pulls off his vest and quickly works his fingers over the buttons of his shirt. "And my head's a little fuzzy."

"Fuzzy as in still drunk, or fuzzy as in you want to drink a headache powder before going to bed?"

She grins. "Still drunk… but less so." He chuckles softly, shrugging off his shirt. "I was just admiring this painting." She holds up the little watercolor drawing that his mother made when he was a little boy. "I'd like to frame this one."

"We can arrange that."

"Did she ever teach you?"

He blinks up at her as he fumbles with his belt. "To frame things?"

"No, to paint things."

"Ah…" He murmurs, tugging off his trousers and smoothing his hands over his muslin undergarment. "No, she wanted to, I think, but we never got past finger painting."

"That must've been cute," she says, still looking at the canvas. "You with your blonde hair and dimpled cheeks, and your little fingers covered in paints."

He grins and turns toward the dressing room. "Has Belle already come up?" he asks, stopping and turning back to her. "Or–"

"She has company tonight," Regina says, giggling softly to herself, but then it stops abruptly and she frowns. "Though, if they're still awake they're probably working on my dress instead of enjoying spending a night together."

He grins and turns away from the dressing room. "Well, regardless of how they're spending their time tonight, sewing or sleeping or… doing other things… they'll have the next few nights to do… any of those things." Regina giggles as she sets the little canvas onto her night stand. "And regardless of _any_ of that, I'm glad to know that she won't be up tonight."

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm too tired to bother with a nightshirt." He frowns. "It always bunches up in odd places, and I spend half the night fighting with it."

"Won't you get cold?"

"I've got couple of thick blankets… and you."

At that, her groggy eyes brighten. "You _do_ have me."

He climbs into bed and almost immediately Regina slides toward him. He blows out the lamp on the nightstand as she cuddles against him, resting her head on his chest as his arm folds around her and he adjust the blankets–and as his eyes close, he can't help but think about how good it'll be for them to get away from Sherwood for awhile, even if it's just a short getaway, and hopes that like before, they'll return closer and more secure.


	23. Chapter 23

Robin feels giddy as their carriage begins to draw up the long cobblestone approach to the hunting lodge, and more than anything, he can't wait to stretch his legs and be done with looking at patches of countryside for hours on end. **  
**

They'd made the journey in record time. He and John had taken shifts, pulling the carriages caravan-style, and they'd only stopped to give the horses a few hours rest for the night.

It'd been well-past midnight when they spotted a lantern in an upstairs window of a pub, a sign of a vacancy. The boys had long been asleep, and Regina was fading in and out. None of them had even changed out of their clothes when they made their way up to the room, and aside from Henry's dragon, they'd left everything in the carriages to make their departure the following morning easier on everyone.

That morning, it'd still been dark when they left the pub. Regina loaded the boys into the carriage while he settled the bill, and when he pulled open the carriage door, he couldn't help but laugh and feel the tiniest bit of disappointment. Regina was sitting on the bench where they'd sat the night before, and Henry was curled up into her side. Her arm was around him and she rested her head atop his, while Roland stretched out along the rest of the bench with his head in her lap. He'd sighed as a little grin edged its way over her lips, and she offered him little more than a shrug as he climbed into the carriage and took his seat on the bench across from them, alone and in the seat next to Henry's dragon.

Gently, he nudges Regina's leg with his foot, and she lifts her head, looking up groggily as she caught a glimpse of the house and watched it come into view.

They're still a ways away–another ten minutes, at least–and he watches as Regina rouses the boys. Henry pulls himself up and away from her as he turns to the window, inhaling a long and deep breath as they pass by the edge of the orchard. Roland, however, groans and turns himself toward Regina. He buries his head in her lap, and she rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she scoops him up and practically cradles him in her arms–and when she starts to tickle his sides and pepper his face with kisses until he's laughing out uncontrollably, Robin feels his heart expand to the point that it nearly bursting.

As they draw closer, he can see the small staff of the house lined up on the gravel path waiting to receive them. Winston is first, standing in front of the rest, and then Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley, following by a long line of maids and footmen who were all temporary hires for the Harvest Ball.

It seems so much more formal than what he's used to–a bit unnecessary–but it's a nice change of pace.

When the carriage pulls up in front of them, Winston comes forward to open the door, and Robin helps Regina and the boys out. Regina has them each by a hand, and Robin grabs Henry's dragon as the staff welcomes them and Winston opens the second carriage for Ruby and Belle.

It's not long before their inside, and he can't help but notice the way Regina's shoulders relax or the lopsided grin that edges over her lips as she sees the framed needle point above the fireplace.

"Can I get you–"

"I'm _starving_ ," Roland cuts in, his eyes widening as he looks to Mrs. Beakley. "I slept through breakfast."

"Roland," Regina warns as she hugs him into her side and rubs her hand over his shoulder. "You shouldn't interrupt."

"I'm sorry," he says, sheepishly as his cheeks flush. "It's just… I smell cookies and it made me even hungrier."

"I smell cookies, too," Henry tells her. "And I'm _also_ hungry."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you came hungry. We've been up earlier than usual around here with much more to do. I've only now put on the crepes that were meant for breakfast."

"Oh," Roland frowns. "I thought you were making cinnamon cookies."

"Cinnamon crepes," Mrs. Beakley explains as she holds out both of her hands and wiggles her fingers. "And I've been told my crepes can put _any_ cookie to shame."

" _Any_ cookie?" Henry asks skeptically. "Even _your_ cookies?"

Regina giggles as Mrs. Beakley shugs and takes each boy by the hand. "Why don't the two of you come and find out?"

"Mr. Locksley," Winston murmurs, gesturing behind himself at their trunks. "Per your instructions, your valet's already started to take up your sons' things. I don't mean to make this uncomfortable, but I was wondering if your things and Mrs. Locksley's things should be separated."

"We've prepared two rooms," Mrs. Potter adds. "Just in case you prefered it."

Robin's brow furrows. "We shared a room the last time we were here."

"Yes, but–" Winston stops. His eyes shift momentarily to Mrs. Potter, and then he nods and looks back to Robin. "I will start taking them up now."

Robin's brow arches curiously, still turning the question over in his mind as Winston returns to the main entrance and begins to sort out the trunks, and as his eyes meet Mrs. Potter's, she sighs. "It's just the last time the two of you were here, we made an assumption that you'd be sharing a room."

"And it worked out rather well," Regina says easily.

Mrs. Potter nods. "For the most part."

"Was something… amiss? We didn't mind it."

"We didn't mean to make anyone uncomfortable," Regina says, her voice tightening as she looks quickly to Robin. "Honestly–"

"No, no, no," Mrs. Potter cuts in. "You didn't make any of us uncomfortable. The two of you were rather sweet, and as we said before, it was refreshing to have a young family livening things up." She smiles as she looks between them. "I apologize if I'm over-stepping, but–"

"Please, don't worry about that," Regina cuts in, sighing as she comes to stand beside him.

"Well, we all decided it'd be nice to give the two of you a night in–"

"Yes, you all went to a fair of some sort in the village," Robin says, remembering. "You took the boys and it's all they talked about for _days_ afterward."

She nods and smiles. "And when we returned the following morning things were… tense." Regina's eyes sink closed and he thinks back to that morning–the morning after they'd slept together–and how upset she was. "After you left, we all felt a little guilty. We pushed you two together when we assumed–"

"None of you have anything to feel guilty about," Robin says as his arm slips around Regina's waist, tugging her into his side. "We were happy to share then and happier to share now."

Regina bristles a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

"As long as you'll both be comfortable."

"We will," Regina says. "And we both appreciate you being so considerate."

Leaning up into her toes, she presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and then her attention turns to the housekeeper. "Now that we have the sleeping arrangements sorted out, you need to put me to use."

"Oh, I think–"

"I insist," Regina cuts in. "In just over twenty-four hours time this house is going to be full of people expecting a good meal and a good time."

"Which we will give them," Mrs. Potter says, patting the clipboard she holds. "We can't thank you both enough for making up for this."

"We're glad to," Robin tells her as Regina sighs.

"I noticed the extra maids and footmen," she says. "You need the extra help and that's why I'm here." She grins. "I'm not signing up to wax the ballroom floor because I'd do a poor job of it and only create more work for everyone else, but I _want_ to help."

Taking a breath, Mrs Potter nods in concession–and then embraces the need for help. He feels a bit useless as Mrs. Potter and Regina speak about the upcoming Harvest Ball, and it's only then that he realizes the amount of thought and energy Regina's put into the event and how much must've been included in those letters she spent hours writing every day. She picked the menu and the flowers, the music and the children's game, and though he had absolutely no part in it, he feels himself bubbling with pride as Regina beams at a box of table linens.

A footman comes in with a sampling of the china plates–simple white with gold and plum pinstriping along the scalloped edge–and Regina gives the plates her approval before being presented with the glassware that will sit beside the plates at the table settings. Mrs. Potter asks her option of every detail and the footman never flinches at her questions or remarks. They defer to her and barely seem to notice him, and it's a nice change of pace from what they're used to at Sherwood…

"Well, it seems like you've got everything covered," Regina says, looking up from gold-painted napkin ring. "Really, you've outdone yourselves."

"It was nice to have your guidance," Mrs. Potter tells her as she hands the napkin ring back to the footman. "Usually we're left to go at it alone, and things have gotten a little stale over the years. It's always the same thing over and over."

"I hope I haven't ruffle any feathers. I know traditions can be so important."

"You've ruffled nothing," Mrs. Potter says, just before excusing the footman who lifts the heavy box of china and glass as he hurries out of the ballroom. Robin watches the way Regina takes a moment to appreciate the room with his high vaulted windows and the green and white marble tiles that line the perimeter of the dance floor. There are pennants and banners hung around the room as decoration and candelabras scattered around with newly cut candles that the follow night will set the room aglow. "There is one thing we haven't quite been able to plan out."

"Oh?"

"You see the host and hostess are supposed to open the celebration with a dance."

"Ah…"

Robin clears his throat. "I don't remember that part," he admits. "I just remember stuffing myself silly with cakes and cookies and pies."

Mrs. Potter laughs. "As I'm sure your sons will."

At that Regina sighs, but nonetheless nods in agreement and he can almost picture her disapproving glare as Henry and Roland steal a plate of cookies to share between the two of them as they hide beneath a table to watch the festivities. Some of his earliest memories involved hiding from his nanny's watchful eye and indulging in sweet treats as he watched his grandfather drinking and laughing as he talked to the men of the village and danced with the ladies, and he finds himself brimming with anticipation, hoping to live up to expectation in a way that he has never cared before…

"For the last several years we've had to forgo this tradition since we didn't have a proper host, so if you're both willing, I think it'd be nice to reintroduce it. I think some of the older villagers would especially enjoy it." Robin blinks as he feels Regina's eyes on him, and suddenly he's brought back into the present. "Especially given that we have the pleasure of having such a sweet, young couple as our host and hostess this year."

"We'd be glad to," Robin says, shrugging as he looks to Regina. "I'm not much for dancing, but I won't turn down an opportunity to hold my wife and have people marvel at how lucky I am to have her."

Regina's eyes roll. "What, um… sort of dance?" She bristles as she looks between them. "I assumed there'd be dancing, but…" Her voice trails off as she smiles awkwardly. "I didn't anticipate being the _only_ one dancing."

"You won't be the _only_ one dancing," Robin teases. "I'll be with you." Regina glares as a chuckle bubbles up from him, and he can't help but reach for her. He pulls her into his side as his arm slips around her waist and he presses a kiss to her cheek, earning him a soft smile from Mrs. Potter as Regina sighs. "I'm sure it'll be something simple, like a Country Dance. We'll open it and other can join."

Regina nods–and then, she surprises him. "Or we could do something a bit more… modern."

"Like?"

"A waltz," she says in a hopeful voice as a little grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "I just think it'd be–" Her voice halts. "No. No, forget I suggested that."

"It'd be… quite a surprise," Mrs. Potter says. "But you needn't worry about shocking the villagers. They've seen worse in their pubs than they would in this ballroom with the two of you waltzing."

Regina shakes her head. "I just thought it'd be fun."

"Then we should do it," he says decisively. "The whole point of us being here was to get away for a little _fun_."

"I… don't know," Regina says. "Maybe something more traditional would be–"

"Pardon me for overstepping," Mrs. Potter cuts in. "But you're young and in love, and folks are not nearly as stuffy or proper as they are back home." She grins. "And if the two of you want to waltz, then the two of you should waltz."

"What do you say?"

Regina's cheeks flush as she looks between them. "It… would be fun."

"It would be," he agrees. "Provided I don't step on your toes a hundred thousand times."

"Well, I'll have to be drunk not to lose my nerve," she laughs. "So, I won't feel it, if you do."

"The wine will be plentiful, I assure you, Mrs. Potter says as a warm smile spread across her face. "I'll go and write to the musicians," she says, "To be sure they have the music." She laughs softly to herself, in an excited and giddy way. "Once I've done that I'll check in with Mrs. Beakley about any last-minute menu needs, and get back to you."

At that, she leaves them, and Regina laughs out, her smile shining through her eyes as she steps away from him and turns to face him. "If we did this at Sherwood–"

"It'd create quite the scandal."

She nods and shrugs her shoulders, still smiling as she looks up at the high ceilings. "Though, I suppose being accused of risque dancing is one of the tamer things I've been accused of."

Again, she laughs and he's glad to see her so relaxed and uncaring about what people will say or think. "Maybe, we should practice," he murmurs as she looks back to him. "While I've no worries that you'll be graceful as ever, I'd prefer not to look like a fumbling fool."

Regina looks to him. "You've waltzed, through?"

"Only once or twice," he admits. "Marian wasn't much of a dancer, and I was glad to skip it."

"This wasn't one of the dances my governess or my mother approved of," she tells him. "So, naturally, it's the only one I bothered to learn."

"Did you practice with Daniel?"

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Barefoot in the stables."

"Will you practice with me?"

"I'd be glad to," she says, turning herself toward him, and offering her hand. "It's not that difficult, really," she tells him as she draws in a short breath as she moves in front of him. "Give me your hand."

He does–and when her palm skims up over his wrist and her fingers lace down through his, it takes everything in him to pay attention.

"Closer."

"Hm?"

"I need you closer," she tells him. "You need to hold me."

"Alright," he says, taking a step in. "How's this?"

"Closer," she giggles. "There shouldn't be much room between us."

"This might be my new favorite dance," he tells her as he takes another half step in. "Is this good?"

"Yes," she says as she extends their entwined hands. "Now, I'll be you and you be me."

"Won't that be confusing?"

"Maybe," she shrugs. "But it's hard to teach _you_ when _you're_ supposed to be leading."

He laughs. "I'd likely knock over all that nice china and be banished from the house."

Regina giggles as her shoulders straighten. "It's not that complicated. I think you'll pick it up just fine."

"You overestimate me."

Her eyes roll, but she smiles as their eyes meet. "So, just remember it goes slow, then quick and quick and back to slow."

"What?"

"The steps," she tells him. "You'll see."

And then, as she takes a step forward, gently pushing him back, he does. She moves in a diamond-like pattern, and after a few rounds across the dancefloor, he starts to pick it up and is able to anticipate her movements. It occurs to him that he should probably ask to try and lead himself, but he likes letting her pull him around on the dance floor, and he likes the way she mumbles the steps quietly to him and the way she gazes at him as she does. But most of all, he likes the confidence in her eyes and in her touch. She looks happy and lighthearted, and she's in control.

"You're getting the hang of it."

"I've got a good teacher."

"It's not exactly complicated," she says as a slow smile draws onto her lips. "Do you want to try leading?" He hesitates and she giggles. "It's just a reverse of what we're doing now."

"We've got a good thing going," he says, looking down between them, still conscious of the pattern of steps. "I don't want to mess that up."

"But you're the one who's supposed to be leading."

His eyes narrow. "Is that something people will really pay attention to?"

"My mother would say yes."

"Well, thank goodness your mother isn't here," he tells her, laughing as he misses a step. "She'd likely be clicking her tongue at my two left feet."

"She wouldn't be judging your feet, she'd be too appalled at the shocking way that I'm dancing."

"And _leading_ , at that."

Regina laughs out and her head dips forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder for an all too brief moment. He smiles as she lifts her head to look at him. She's close enough that he can feel her breath on his lips and as his hand presses firmly against the small of her back–

"M'lady, I–" Ruby's voice halts. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Regina says, taking a step back from him as he sighs. "We were just, um… practicing our dance."

Ruby grins, though she shifts uncomfortably. "Then I _am_ interrupting."

"No…"

"I just wondering if you were ready to finish your dress. It doesn't have to be now, but–"

"Oh!" Regina's eyes widen. "I nearly forgot that it wasn't done."

"Just a few more details," Ruby says. "And I want to double check the hem. I stitched in the back of a wobbly carriage, so–" She stops and her eyes press closed. "But, you're in the middle of something and it can wait."

"Nonsense," Regina says, taking a few more steps away from him. "I can't dance if I don't have a dress to dance _in_ ," she muses. "I'll be up in a few minutes."

"It won't take long."

"You can have all the time you need." Ruby nods as she turns a bit awkwardly out of the room, and Robin reaches for her, tugging her back to him as he presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "You should practice."

"Without you?"

She nods to a broom leaning against a table. "There's your new partner," she teases, offering a quick wink as she pulls away and heads up the stairs.

Regina's stomach rumbles as she steps off the stool, watching through the mirror as Belle helps Ruby carry her dress into the dressing room. She smiles at it, noting the way the deep crimson fabric contrasts the creamy ivory lace. There are so many details about the dress that she likes, from the line of lace-covered buttons that lead down the side that lead to the ivory sash to the way the fabric splits open on the opposite side to reveal the lacy petticoat beneath it to the way the red fabric cuts in a straight line across her chest, hiding her cleavage, but leaving her shoulders bare with the exception of a single layer of lace that creates loose cap sleeves. But most importantly, the corset is built into the dress, making it easier to move and breathe–and that makes it her favorite yet.

Stretching out her arms, she rolls her shoulders, smiling as Belle returns and sits down at the dressing table, carefully unwrapping the jewellery that'll accompany the dress.

She isn't entirely sure where it came from, but a few nights before, Robin had presented it to her. He'd been all smiles and giggly as he came into their bedroom at Sherwood, holding a little wooden box with both hands. She hadn't been able to stop her smile, and in that moment, he reminded her so much of Roland and they way he held things that he knew were of value. He'd sat down on her side of the bed as he set the box in her lap, grinning encouragingly as she opened it. Inside was a choker and a set of matching earrings. Bothe were simple and elegant, and very much what she was realizing was her style.

At the center of the choker was a small circle-cut ruby. It was set in a gold setting and attached to both sides was a delicate string of pearls. The earrings were similar in style–also circle cut rubies and from them hung a teardrop pearl.

She wasn't sure who they'd belonged to and she didn't ask, but judging by the box, it'd either have been his mother or grandmother, or perhaps the housekeeper with whom his grandfather had a decades-long love affair. It didn't matter, though, and she didn't give him much of an opportunity to explain. She'd kissed him as a thank you, and by the time they pulled apart for air, he looked a little dizzy and was no longer interested in discussing the jewelry.

"Such a perfect match," Belle muses. "The color is nearly identical to your dress."

"I know," Regina grins. "It's like they were made for my dress."

"Or made for you."

"Well–"

"Oh!" Belle cuts in, her eyes widening. "It's nearly noon!"

"Is… that time important?" Regina asks, looking back at her maid. "Am I supposed to be somewhere?"

"No," Belle replies, shaking her head as she turns herself to face her. "It's just you haven't eaten today."

Regina grins as she considers it. "That certainly explain why my stomach feels the way it does."

"Should I go down to the kitchen and see what Mrs. Beakley can scrap together? I'm sure she made something for the boys. Perhaps there are leftovers."

"As long as she's not busy preparing for tomorrow."

"You can't wait until tea, you'll–"

"Manage just fine," Regina grins. "But I wouldn't say no to whatever's left."

Belle nods and excuses herself, and as the door closes, Regina falls back onto the bed. The bed is softer than the ones at Sherwood and the curtains and windows are open, and the room is sunny and cool–and for a moment, she wonders if it'd be possible to sneak in a little nap.

Her eyes closed and she draws in a breath, enjoying the way the cool breeze makes her skin tingle beneath the thin muslin of her undergarments. It occurs to her that she should get herself dressed and see what she can help with around the house, but it also occurs to her that she hasn't slept well since they left Sherwood. Robin likely has the boys occupied and most of the preparations of the Harvest Ball are in the final stages, and…

"I'm sorry to bother you, M'lady, but–"

Regina flinches and sits up, blinking as she looks to the door where Mrs. Beakley is standing. She's holding a tray and smiling sweetly, and whatever she has on the plate smells incredible.

"You're not bothering me," Regina says, sitting up and letting her legs fall over the edge of the bed. "Especially not if you've brought me…" Her eyes widen as her voice trails off as she remembers her state of undress. "Oh, I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't be–"

Mrs. Beakley's laugh cuts in, loud and rising over her words. "You're covered up as much as dress would cover you, and even if you weren't, there's no need for _you_ to apologize. You probably expected your maid."

"I did," Regina admits. "I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep."

"You needed it," the cook says as she comes into the room, shutting the door behind herself as she looks for a spot to set down the tray. "Travel is never easy, especially with little ones in tow," she says, setting the tray onto Regina's dressing table as she busys herself preparing it. "You looked tired when you arrived."

Regina watches as she mixes a little lemon into her tea. "I didn't realize it until I sat down."

"That's always the way."

Regina nods as the smell of apple wafts through the air. "What did you bring me? That smells amazing."

"Well, I remembered that you liked apples and we've had such an over abundance of them this season, so I figured I'd give you a little preview of one of the dishes for tomorrow." She grins at her through the mirror. "Pork tenderloin with an brown-sugar glaze and an apple chutney."

The sound that escapes her should be embarrassing, but she's too hungry to care. Mrs. Beakley brings the tray back to her and sets it over her lap as she leans back against the pillows.

"Henry tested the chutney and gave it his stamp of approval," Mrs. Beakley tells her as a laugh rises into her voice. "I think your boy might have a knack for cooking."

"Henry helped?"

"He mixed it all together and rubbed down the pork for me. I think he would've stayed in the kitchen all day if Robin hadn't come to collect him." She laughs again as she gestures to the bed. "May I?"

"Of course," Regina murmurs as she cuts into the tenderloin.

"But I wouldn't expect a boy of his age to choose to stay in a hot kitchen preparing food he can't yet eat over playing games with his brother and papa." She laughs again. "But he certainly considered it."

"Oh," Regina breathes out. "This tastes as good as it smells."

"Henry said the same." Regina grins, as Mrs. Beakley chuckles softly. "You should consider yourself lucky. He's a sweet little boy–they both are. It's so nice having all of you here."

"We like being here," Regina tells her in a voice that's full of sincerity. "And I am very aware of how lucky I am."

"I'm glad to see that everything's alright between the two of you," Mrs. Beakley shares, her voice a bit tentative as her eyes narrow. "You had us worried, you know."

" _I_ did?" Regina asks, feeling her stomach flop as her eyes widen and she looks up to the cook, remembering the conversation she and Robin had earlier with Mrs. Potter and Winston regarding their sleeping arrangements. She knows that she's done nothing wrong and that there's no scandal in sharing a bed with the man she's married to–a man she loves and a man who loves her–but talking about it makes her shift in discomfort. "I… don't quite know what you had to worry about."

"It's not my concern, I know," Mrs. Beakley says, still choosing her words cautiously. "I realize that I'm overstepping and it's not my place to even have an opinion, but I've never been good at minding my own business." She sighs and her hand falls to Regina's leg. "I care too much for that."

"A-about?"

She hesitates for a moment, the draws in a breath, then slowly releases it in a sigh. There's something that shifts in her expression, likely making the choice to do away with the barriers of status and position–and thought Regina's never cared much for either, there was a degree of comfort in knowing that certain topics would likely never be broached.

And yet…

"The morning after we all took Henry and Roland into the village for the evening, I found Robin wandering around in the kitchen, looking like a wounded pup." At that, Regina looks back up, remembering the hurt that registered in his eyes when she'd told him that what happened between them the night before was a mistake. It'd been a sucker-punch and she knew it, and for a little more than a day, it succeeded in putting enough space between them for her to wallow and lick the wounds inflicted by her mother's letter and the past that haunted her. "The poor thing was practically in tears, so I did the only thing I knew how to do," she says, chuckling softly, "I fed him, and we talked for a little bit."

"Oh…" she murmurs, not really knowing what to say in response. "So, he… told you."

"I won't get into the details–not that he gave me very much to go off of–but given how little goes on around here most days, that conversation rattled around in my head for weeks, and…" Her voice trails off as she sighs. "And I all I could think of is what an absolute failure your mother was as a parent."

She blinks–she didn't expect that. "What?"

Mrs. Beakley laughs. "You didn't know that I knew her?"

"I was… vaguely aware," Regina murmurs, recalling Cora's snippy comments about the cook who'd been a kitchen maid when they knew each other. "I'm just not sure what my mother has to do with… _that_."

"There are things she should have told you. This mothers have an obligation to tell their daughters, things that she should have taught you that could have saved you an awful lot of heartache," she easily replies. "Especially that morning."

Regina feels her cheeks flush with warmth. "Oh."

"I've never been one to beat around the bush, and if it makes you uncomfortable, then say it and that'll be the last of it, but…" She sighs, shaking her head. "You're young and you're in love, and you should get to enjoy that."

"I… do enjoy it."

"Not completely," Mrs. Beakley counters, her brow arching. "Not without guilt and fear."

"It's… complicated."

"It doesn't have to be."

It takes her a moment to reply, and then her eyes fall back to her plate. "I don't want to trap him."

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Beakley says, almost laughing as she squeezes Regina's knee. "He _wants_ you to trap him."

She manages an uncomfortable smile. This is all well-meaning, but it hurts to be talking about the limitations of her marriage–limitations that she's set–and the thought of Robin talking about this with anyone other than her stings. Swallowing hard, she looks at the cook's hand on her knee and then back to her, ready to put up her walls and insist that this isn't appropriate, and even if it were, it's not something she's interested in discussing. But as her eyes shift up to Mrs. Beakley's she finds them warm and unassuming. There's no judgement there and she's looking at her in a way that's almost maternal… not that she really knew what that looked like on the receiving end.

"So, Robin talked to you the last time we were here about… um… that night?"

"I coaxed him with milk and cookies," she admits, laughing softly. "The same trick works on all of your boys."

At that, she grins. "That's good to know."

"He mentioned that the two of you spent the night together… that it was wonderful and you both fell asleep smiling, then by morning, something changed." She pauses for a moment and then continues. "He mentioned that you don't want more children."

"That… could change."

"It could, but it doesn't have it."

Regina nods. "It' just that… for right now, at least, I just don't think it's… right for us."

"You don't have to explain or justify it," Mrs. Beakley says plainly. "You're already raising two delightful little boys, and a big family isn't right for everyone." She shrugs. "I don't regret my choice not to have children. It wasn't right for me. There's no other explanation necessary."

Regina's brow furrows. "I… didn't realize you were married."

"I'm not," Mrs. Beakley replies easily. "But that doesn't mean I was never young and in love… and wanting to enjoy that."

"And by enjoy…"

A coy little grin edges onto her lips. "Well, it _is_ rather enjoyable when you're with someone you love, isn't it?" Regina feels her cheeks warm again and it takes everything in her not to look away in embarrassment, but Mrs Beakley continues before she can reply and she looks so unbothered by the topic of their conversation that it feels like she should embarrassed to be embarrassed by it. "I'm not here to talk you into doing anything you don't want to do, M'lady, and I'm certainly not–"

"If we're going to talk about _this_ ," Regina cuts in. "You can, at least, call me by my name."

The cook nods. "Well, then, _Regina_ , I'm also not here to convince you to throw caution to the wind and potentially risk having a child you're not ready to have. You've still got years to decide if you want another child and it's a decision I've no right to be a part of." Once more, her grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth, but this time, it's much less coy and much more sincere. "But its was hard watching a young couple, so in love, but so distant over something so silly."

"Silly…" Regina repeats. "The last time I let myself _enjoy_ a man I loved, I ended up with a son." She feels her chest tighten as her stomach flops. "And I–"

"Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"Do you regret having Henry?"

"No," she says easily. "I don't." A little grin edges onto her lips as she thinks of him. "I don't regret anything that brought Henry into my life. He's…" She laughs a little as her voice trails off, remembering the way he'd make funny faces at her until she laughed after they'd moved back into Dragon Head and she remembers what a comfort he'd been after losing Daniel… and then, she remembers those difficult nights when Daniel was working at the tavern down stairs and Henry wouldn't stop crying, the way she'd tried to ration her own food after Daniel died so that Henry wouldn't be hungry and how she'd felt like such a failure as a parent when even then, he'd go to bed with a rumbling stomach. "I love my boy. Truly, I do, and I mean it when I say I don't regret having him. But… that doesn't change the fact that I wasn't ready for him. I wasn't ready for… everything that came after him."

"Well, from where I'm standing you did a fine job managing it."

Regina scoffs and her eyes fall back to the plate. If only she knew…

"But you can enjoy your husband without the consequences of a child."

Regina looks up, her eyes wide. "I could never get rid of–"

"No, no, no," Mrs Beakley cuts in, squeezing at her knee as she shakes her head. "That's not what I'm talking about. Not at all." She sighs. "You know, for someone who was so dead set on controlling every aspect of your life, your mother did an absolutely awful job of actually teaching you to control it."

Regina blinks, but before she can even to formulate a reply, Mrs. Beakley is speaking again.

"My mother was a midwife and even though some of the tricks of her trade have fallen out of habit, they still work all the same." She sighs. "And your mother certainly knew of them, so there's no excuse for her not passing that knowledge down to you."

"To be fair, I wasn't… really… easy to manage," Regina admits, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't really listen."

"Did she ever give you a reason to?"

A grin tugs onto her lips at the frankness of the questing. It sounds like something her father might have said after a long, tiring day and a few too many drinks. "It's… so odd to me that you know her."

"Know is a strong word, but I will say that what I _know of_ her, I don't like."

Regina grins again, shifting a bit uncomfortably as she bites down on her bottom lip. "Um, so, these tricks…"

Laughing Mrs. Beakley nods. "There's a tea you can drink–Queen Anne's lace–lemon-soaked sponges, and of course, assurance caps, if you can manage to find them."

"Caps," Regina repeats, clearing her throat, remembering some of the girls who worked in the tavern talking about them–but they weren't the sort of them respectable men wore when they took their wives to bed, but what men wore to keep themselves clean when they hired a prostitute–and she can't help but flinch at the implication. "Oh…"

"But, that puts the responsibility on the man and, well… I don't know about you, but I am just not comfortably with _that_ particular risk."

Taking a breath, Regina nods and looks to her. "So, the tea and sponges… where would I… or, if I wanted…"

"I've got a garden full of Queen Anne's lace in the flower beds," she explains. "It's a delicate and pretty little flower. I sell it alongside the vegetables on market days in the village."

"And, um, the sponges…"

"Available for purchase at any pharmacy."

"Ah…" She clears her throat. "And it's… I mean, they're… effective?"

Mrs. Beakley smiles. "Nothing is is one-hundred effective, but combining methods ups the chances."

Regina nods. "So… tea and sponges, and…"

"Assurance caps," the cook supplies as Regina's voice falters as her eyes fall to her lap. "Or pulling out, but something tells me that's the method that led to your son's conception. And again, that one of those things that's typically up to the man, and well… I never liked leaving anything up to any lover I had."

"I… I wouldn't… um…"

Her heartbeat quickens and her cheeks flush with warmth as she struggles with her words, and in response, Mrs. Beakley offers her a hearty laugh.

"You know what? Why don't you let me send you home with a little care package, hm? I've no qualms about walking into a seedy old tavern for those caps. It won't create a scandal, just a joke." Leaning in, she squeezes Regina's knee again. "And I do enjoy a good laugh."

"I… I don't know what to say," Regina murmurs as she looks back to her. "I…"

"You don't have to say anything," she assures her. "I just want the two of you to be happy, to not waste years of your lives together worried about what other people are going think or what could happen." She shrugs, and pulls her hand away and draws in a breath. "And be sure to give be a full report on that pork and chutney… especially now that it's cold. You know how conversation gets in the way of a meal at these sorts of things. No matter what I do, folks are going to be eating cold food."

She winks as she rises from the bed and for a moment, Regina focuses down on the plate that she'd all but forgotten about. "Right…" Taking a breath, Regina focuses down on the beautifully arranged plate, and feels a pang of guilt at the realization that for the last half an hour, she's occupied the cook's time–time that would have likely been better spent in the kitchen, preparing for the festivities of the next day. "I appreciate it, and I hope I didn't set you back. You didn't have to–"

"I wanted to come up for a little chat," Mrs. Beakley cuts in. "I could've sent your maid, but… delivering a plate of food was a secondary reason." She winks. "And somehow, I don't think that adorable child you call a maid could've delivered

"Probably not," Regina admits as a little laugh rises into her voice, thinking about the way Belle's cheeks flush when Ruby merely holds her hand. "But, still, this was…"

"Something I wanted to do."

"But _why_?" Regina asks as her eyes widen a little. "It's not that I'm not grateful, it's just, this is… all so beyond…um…"

Mrs. Beakley's brow arches. "Are you asking me why I care for you?" She sighs and shakes her head, but her smile warms. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

"Someone who isn't my mother, I assume."

"Definitely not your mother," Mrs. Beakley confirms with a nod. "If you'll excuse me, M'lady, I've an apple currant pudding and a custard to make that'll feed a small army, and as much as I wish they would, they just won't prepare themselves."

Regina smiles and nods as she watches her go, and when the door closes behind her, leaving her alone in the bedroom, a little giggle escapes her as her head falls back against the pillows. Her giggle turns to a laugh as she considers the surreal conversation–and then, deep within herself, she feels a flicker of excitement.

Robin rolls onto his side and clears his throat as a groan escapes him.

There's a dull ache at his temples and a vague memory flutters.

The night before–the eve of the Harvest Ball–there was a tradition that kicked off the festivities and apparently it was one his grandfather always took part in. The men of the village all gathered at a tavern and drank themselves silly. They played darts and billiards, and smoked expensive cigars–and he'd turned a blind eye as men began disappearing into the rooms above the tavern the girls who worked there.

By the time he made it back to the hunting lodge, the house was dark with the exception of a few candles meant to light his way, and as he stumbled into the bedroom, he couldn't help but notice the sky was already beginning to lighten. He'd quickly changed and collapsed into the bed beside Regina, and a grin had pulled onto his lips as she rolls onto her side to face him, groggily asking him if he'd enjoyed himself. He'd admitted that he had enjoyed it and she'd giggled as she told him that he smelled of whiskey–and then, she pecked his lips and cuddled into his chest, and that was the last thing he remembered…

Now, he found himself in bed alone with the morning sun pouring in through the open curtains. Sighing, he tosses his feet over the edge of the bed, then rises up and wanders into the dressing room. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he absently gropes the wall for the cord to ring for John, and as soon as he's pulled it, he sinks down into a chair to wait–and it's then that Regina's dress catches his eye.

For a moment, he just stares at it, remembering not-so-long ago when it was just strips of fabric pinned to Regina. Thinking of it makes his smile–the way she'd stood on that stool with her chin tipped up, looking so excited that she was practically giddy as she watched thought the mirror as Ruby pin the fabric–and he can't wait to see her in the finished version.

After the discovery of his mother's music box up in the attic, he'd ventured up to see what other forgotten treasures he might find. The boys had just finished a music lesson and Roland was eager to play for her, though he only knew the first few notes of the song and after the third or fourth attempt at those few notes, he'd excused himself while Regina sat down beside Roland on the piano bench, and asked to hear it again. As he'd started up the stairs, he'd looked back and watched Mal helping Henry to read as she guided his fingers on a wooden slab with painted-on piano keys. Henry was taking it very seriously, looking pensive and a bit intense as he looked from the music to his fingers, then back again. Roland wasn't nearly as interested in learning to read the music itself and his heart warmed as Regina pull Roland onto her lap and pointed to each key, laughing as he giggled with excitement as he pressed the keys and slowly played the song. It'd taken everything in him to turn away, but curiosity got the best of him and a few minutes later, he was standing in the attic, staring at neatly stacked boxes.

He'd started off by browsing through them the labels on them. The deeper he got the more faded the labels became. He'd started there, looking through old hats and knick-knacks he didn't recognize. He found his grandfather's pipe chest that still smelled of tobacco and an almost completely used bottle of his mother's perfume, and then, in another unmarked box, he found a ruby necklace with matching earrings and cufflinks–and his first thought was how perfectly they matched Regina's dress.

He wasn't sure who they'd once belonged to–they were too flashy for his father's taste and most of his grandfather's things were up at the lodge–but that didn't really matter, and he couldn't wait to make them hers.

"I brought you a powder," John says, bringing him back into the present moment. "I'm sure you've awoken with a headache."

Robin nods as he takes the glass. "A terrible one."

"And what a day for it."

Looking pointedly at him, he nods again. "Last night was a stupid tradition."

"One you won't continue."

"Hardly."

John just laughs as he takes the glass back and they fall into a light conversation about the coming evening as John helps him to dress in a simple pair of trousers and linen shirt. With a sigh, Robin reluctantly accept this wollen vest, but refuses the jacket that goes with it on the account of Harvest Ball preparations and needing to move more freely.

John offers him a slight laugh as he returns the jacket to the hanger and grabs the lint brush. "I think your wife has it all under control."

"Does she?"

The valet nods as he rubs the brush over Robin's shoulders. "You should see her down there. She's very much in her element, save two little boys running circles 'round her and driving her batty."

Robin feels a pang of guilt for oversleeping. "Are they?"

"As I said, she has it all under control, and if she doesn't she is doing an _awfully_ good job of pretending."

Robin watches as John returns the lint brush and then gives himself a quick look over in the mirror before excusing himself. It occurs to him as he jogs down the stairs that the ache at his temples is duller, and that perhaps some fresh air could finish off his headache–and by the time he reaches the ballroom, the thought of taking the boys out on a little adventure seems like a brilliant plan.

Each boy sits on either side of Regina, looking absolutely miserable as they help make what he can only assume are centerpieces for the tables. Henry looks bored and Roland looks as if he's near tears, and Regina's jaw is tense as she looks between them.

"The florist's cat got into his store cupboard," Regina explains as soon as she spots him. "So, we're making an attempt at recreating arrangements."

"Are those the same flowers?"

Regina shakes her head. "No, but as it turns our Mrs. Beakley has a _lovely_ garden, and there's a field of wildflowers opposite the orchard." She grins tightly as she clips the end of one of the stems. "Mrs. Potter was kind enough to make one arrangement, and the rest of us are just following her pattern."

"They stink," Roland pouts.

Henry shoots him a glare as his brow furrows. "They're not _so_ bad," he says, looking to Robin. "But stuffing the stems into vases is _dull_."

Robin laughs as Regina's eyes roll and he assumes its likely the hundredth time one of them has complained. The four young maids sitting with them giggle and Mrs. Potter shoots them all a glare, quickly shutting them up before Regina even notices.

"Well, I like them."

"And you'll soon learn, boys, that if the Lady of the House is happy, then everyone is happy."

Roland blinks. "That doesn't make them smell better."

"Well," Robin murmurs as he plucks on of the uncut stems from Regina's pile and sniffs it. "Do you think I could borrow your little helpers?"

"They're not much help," Regina admits, eyeing him. "But at least they're not trying to tie each other up with the ribbon that's meant to go around the chair covers anymore."

A soft chuckle escapes him at the mental image she paints, but Regina doesn't smile, so he clear his throat to mask his amusement. "Sounds like you've had quite the morning."

"Quite."

He laughs again when she takes the stem from him and he rounds the table, grabbing Roland and tossing him up onto his shoulders. "What would the two of you say to a little adventure?" He asks, looking to Henry with an arched brow. "Something that'll take a bit of sleuth work."

Henry blinks. "Anything would be better than _this_."

"Yeah," Roland agrees. "Anything."

Regina's eyes roll, but she grins as he leaves with the boys, and after a quick detour to the nursery to collect Henry's travel book (and the nearly blank one that he'd given Roland to keep him from whining), they set off for the woods just beyond the house.

They spend the next few hours roaming the woods in search of different leaves, pressing each new discovery to a page in their books. Roland distracts himself, finding a grasshopper that he follows, catches and then after a long discussion he has with the bug, he release on the account of not wanting to keep him from his friends. While Roland plays, Henry sits down on a tree stump, jotting down notes about each of the leaves and the occasional limerick when inspiration strikes.

Eventually, they find themselves in the orchard and each boy plucks and apple blossom to put into their book, and while Henry scribbles his notes and poem, Roland settles against a tree to snack on a freshly-picked apple. Robin serves them both mugs of cider and settles at one of the little picnic-style tables at the side of the mill, drinking his own cider as the boys start up a game of tag. He watches as they dart around trees, weaving in and out of the open spaces and when Henry finally catches Roland, the younger boy falls to the ground in a fit of giggle as his brother tickles him.

On the way back the boys pick an apple for Regina, and Henry tells them both about his poems as Roland intermittently rambles about his new grasshopper friend, wondering what he's up to now since their departure…

It's easy and lighthearted, and by the time they're heading back to the lodge, his headache is entirely gone.

Narrowing his eyes a bit, he takes in the house, noticing that the front doors are open and Winston is sweeping the front step. There's an urn opposite him filled with the same wildflowers that Regina had been arranging and just behind it, he can see Mrs. Potter, fluffing up the petals.

"Mama!" Henry calls out as he takes off running as Regina comes to view in the open doorway. "Mama, we brought you an apple!"

Roland takes off after him, running wildly to catch up, and Regina steps onto the gravel path, waving to them as she smiles brightly. He can't help but notice how relaxed she looks as she stoops down and opens her arms to Henry, folding her arms around him as she lifts him into a hug–and in that moment, it looks like she hasn't a care in the world.

She presses a kiss into Henry's hair and then releases him as she turns in the direction of Roland's voice as he calls out to her–and just as she does, Roland tumbles forward. His hands scrape against the gravel and a little cloud of dust rises up around him. Before he can even process what's happened, Regina is running toward him with Henry on her heels. Roland looks down at his hands and his jaw starts to tremble, but before he can even cry, Regina scoops him up in her arms. He light blue cotton skirt billows in the light breeze as she holds him and rocks him in her arms.

"You're alright," she tells him in a sing-song voice. "You're perfectly fine."

"B-but, my h-ands a-re scratched up-p," Roland tells her, hiccuping as he struggles against his tears. "They're bleeding."

"Barely," she murmurs, taking his palm and kissing it. "You're alright."

"My mama can fix _anything_ ," Henry says, in an effort to be helpful as Robin reaches him and loops his arm around Henry. "She's pretty much magic."

Roland's eyes widen as Robin presses a kiss to his hair. "Really, it's no so bad, son."

"B-but–"

"Henry is right," Regina cuts in, still swaying back and forth with him. "I _am_ pretty much magic."

"You are?"

She nods. "Let's go inside. I'll prove it to you." She presses quick kiss to his forehead and winks. "You'll forget about that scrape in no time at all."

He grins as Roland nods, and he follows behind with Henry as Regina takes Roland inside. Winston and Mrs. Potter follow him, and they all watch as Regina sets Roland down in the bay window. Henry stands beside her, watching and smiling supportively at Roland as Regina crouches down in front of him and turns his palms up to face her, letting her examine them.

"Henry, can you go and get me some warm water and a cloth?"

Henry nods and turns, but Wiston hold up his hand and shakes his head. Robin pulls Henry back against his legs and they watched as Regina carefully rolls Roland's sleeves up.

"You got your knee, too," she tells him as her fingers touch his dirty and torn stocking. "Does it hurt."

Roland shakes his head and sniffles. "Just my hands."

"Alright," Regina murmurs, reaching up and wiping away the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. "That's easier," she tells him. "Knees are tricky, but hands, not so much."

Roland grins with relief as she whispers something he can't quite hear from where he's standing.

"It's really a shame that you two don't have more children," Mrs. Potter sighs as she watches Regina talking to Roland. "You're both wonderful parents. The world would be better off if there were more like the two of you."

" _She's_ the wonderful one."

"Don't sell yourself short."

"Oh, I'm not," Robin says, chuckling softly. "I'm just saying _she's_ better at this. I mean, look at her." Mrs. Potter follows his gaze, watching as Regina nibbles at the tips of Roland fingers, making him giggle as her hands rub over his wrists. "It's one of the many reasons I married her."

"Truly?"

Robin nods. "If I was going to marry again, I wanted to marry someone who'd love son unconditionally."

"Seem as though you succeeded."

"I have."

"So, you really don't think–"

"I've arrived with the water," Winston announces as he comes into the room, carrying a small pitcher and basin to Regina. Regina smiles her thanks as Henry wiggles away from him, joining his mother and brother by the window, ready to help her.

"No," Robin says, looking to Mrs. Potter. "As of now, it's not in the cards, and I'm very alright with that."

"You don't want more children?"

"Oh, no. I do, it's just that she isn't so sure."

"And you've no qualms about that?"

Robin shrugs. "I want her to be happy."

"What about your happiness?"

Looking back at Regina and the boys, he smiles. "She makes me happy. That's all I need," he says, very matter-of-factly as his eyes shift back to Mrs. Potter. "It almost seems selfish to ask for more."

"That was a good answer," she tells him, grinning. "And who knows what the future will bring."

Robin nods, watching as Regina sponges the cloth over Roland's palms. "Yes, who knows?" Henry looks back at him and he chuckles softly as he quickly glances to Mrs. Potter, offering a quick wink before turning his attention to his family. "But I _do_ know that the future holds a nap," his voice rising so that the boys can hear him.

"Mm," Regina nods, "I think he's right."

"But–"

" _But_ you're both going to be up awfully late tonight," Robin cuts in as Regina dries Roland's hand, blowing on it and making him giggle. "Besides, I think with an injury like that, you'll be rest."

Roland looks down at his palm. "Yeah," he murmurs. "But it _does_ feel better."

Grabbing hold of his hand Regina kisses his scrape and once again, Roland giggles.

"Told ya she was magic," Henry says as his eyes turn from Roland to Robin. "So, we _really_ get to stay up for the party."

Robin nods. "As long as you can stay awake."

"Which is why a nap is important."

Henry nods in concession, and when he agrees, Roland does, too. "Will you nap with us?" Roland ask, looking to Regina. "Please?"

"I can't," she tells him. "I have to start getting ready for the party."

"Why?"

"Because I have to look pretty and that takes a _very_ long time."

Roland's eyes widen. "But you already look pretty."

"He's right," Robin says, grinning as he looks to her. "But, alas, she's going to look even prettier this evening. Just wait and see."

Roland grins and Henry giggles. "Come on, I'll take you both up and get your ready for that nap."

Henry nods, but Roland sighs, looking momentarily to Regina. "Alright," he concedes.

Robin laughs as Roland slides off of the window seat and takes his hand, and it's not lost on him he way Roland keeps looking back for her–and it makes his heart swell with love and contentment.

Robin stands at the back of the ballroom, just watching.

Regina is… stunning.

There's really no other word for it.

There's something about the way she carries herself that's different–something he can't quite put his finger on, but something he wishes he saw more often.

Since arriving at the lodge, Regina's been different. She's been calmer and more relaxed, more willing to laugh and smile, and join in on a joke. She doesn't hide her emotions the way she does at Sherwood, and not once has he looked over at her and found her on the verge of tears. She doesn't flinch at the sound of footsteps or hide whenever she can in the nursery or shy away from maids and footman. She's comfortable and content… and happy.

That evening, John had dressed him in a separate room, while Belle and Ruby helped her get ready. He was nervous about the dance, and though he and Regina had practiced a handful of times, he was confident he'd leave her toes bloody and bruised–and as he dressed that was what occupied his thoughts.

And then, he saw her.

She was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for him, looking over the banister and watching as Winston greeted their guests and footmen escorted them to the ballroom. The sun was setting and the orangey light was pouring in, and unbeknownst to her, she was standing in a ray of it–and he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Eventually, John nudged him in her direction as Ruby and Belle giggled from the doorway of their bedroom as he approached her, offering a husky _M'lady_ as he offered her his arm. His eyes wandered over her as he stammered through telling her how beautiful she looked. She'd shaken her head and rolled her eyes as her cheeks flushed slightly, and told him that it was just the dress and the jewelry as she slipped her arm through his and they started down the stairs.

But she was wrong, and through every moment of the ball, she was radiant.

There were _hundreds_ of people there from the village–and Winston was quick to note it was the best turn out they'd had in years. They'd opened up the French doors that led to the garden and made rounds through the crowd, greeting everyone. Regina took the lead, and he was happy to follow–happy to let her enjoy the spotlight.

Not long after they arrived in the ballroom, Ruby and Belle escorted Henry and Roland down stairs and they wasted no time in joining the other children in the garden to partake in the games. At one point, he'd been pulled away by one of the older men from the village, eager to share a story about his grandfather, and when he looked up again, Regina was talking with a group of little girls who somehow had convinced her to play a round of Ring Around the Rosie with them. He'd laughed softly to himself as he watched her skirt bubble up around her as they all crouched down at the end and his chest fluttered lightly as she clapped with them and then said her goodbyes. It was at that moment, he'd caught her eye and she'd smile brightly, offering a little wave before someone else caught her attention.

The meal was served while soft music played, and all throughout, he teased her about the amount of apple-based items on the menu. Her eyes widened innocently as she reminded him that they were celebrating an _apple harvest_ , and he'd laughed and called it a convenient excuse.

Then, once dinner wrapped up and the footman cleared away the plates, the music began to play louder, indicating that it was time for their dance.

A bit nervously, he'd stood up and offered her his hand, leading her out to the dance floor.

"Just focus on me," she said as they arrived at the center of the dance floor. "You'll be fine."

"I think that'll be my saving grace, he'd said in a loud whisper. "Everyone will be watching you and no one will be looking at the fumbling idiot you're dancing with."

And that proved to be absolutely true.

By the time the first song ended, he was starting to relax and as the second song began, other couples joined them on the dance floor. The waltz wasn't nearly as scandalous as it might have been at Sherwood, and the other picked it up quickly–and it made it easier for him to blend in and enjoy the moment.

They'd made it around the dance floor a handful of times and between songs, took a moment to catch their breath–and that was when Henry found them on the dance floor, tugging at Robin's elbow and asking if he could cut in. He'd bowed to him and nodded, giving him a quick wink as he exited the dance floor. Winston handed him a full glass of wine and patted him on the back.

He watched her dance with Henry and it wasn't long before Roland joined them–and once more he couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in her demeanor here verses her demeanor at home. He's wasn't sure that he'd ever seen her quite like this before, and that stirred in him something indescribable. He easily remembered the wedding reception she didn't attend and a few months later a soiree held for Mary Margaret Blanchard's birthday that she'd been terrified to attend. Every time they had a dinner guest at Sherwood, she kept her eyes down and held her tongue, disappearing into the nursery with the guise of checking on the boys the first chance she got.

But here she was practically floating across the dance floor as she held Roland on her hip and held Henry by the hand. She was carefree and full of life–and he couldn't help but think that _this_ was the life she was always meant to have.

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again, I haven't seen a ball like this since your grandfather used to host," Winston says, returning with a bottle of wine, refilling his glass without asking. "It's one of the best I've seen and I've been attending since I was a boy."

"I can't take any of the credit," Robin tells him plainly. "That all goes to my wife."

"She's done an outstanding job," Winston tells him, gesturing toward the open French doors to where children are still playing games in the garden. "And I think we've found a new favorite tradition."

Robin beams as he watches her dancing. "I think we've found one, too."

"So you'll be back again next harvest?"

"I'd like to think so."

"As would we," Winston admits. "It's rather nice having you all here. It gives us something to do, a purpose…" His voice trails off. "Not to say that was don't busy ourselves, but managing an empty house isn't so thrilling."

Robin nods and looks back to him, his eyes narrowing.

The first time they'd left the hunting lodge and returned to Sherwood, he'd missed the simplicity and was eager to plan a return trip. But as soon as they arrived back at Sherwood, reality slapped them in the face. They were greeted by snickering maids, an uppity nanny and his father in as foul a mood as ever, and the most unfortunate nature of their situation at Sherwood was that there was little to nothing they could do about it. He'd found himself wishing then that they hadn't had to return, wishing they could have stayed in their happy little bubble at the lodge.

That night, she'd joined him in his bedroom and he fell asleep with her in his arms–and when she woke up the following morning, he hated that she had to sneak away, like they'd done something wrong and shameful. All that morning, he'd entertained the notion of starting life anew at the hunting lodge, of taking her and their boys and moving north. But he'd never said anything about it and he knew that it was more complicated than it seemed. He had obligations at Sherwood and an inheritance to earn, and though he personally didn't care much about the money, it was something he wanted for his sons. So, little by little, they settled back into life at Sherwood and thoughts of leaving all but faded away.

"When she was was young she considered the most desirable debutante." He grins as he watches her, remembering the way she would dance with her friends. "All the boys wanted to dance with her, to get the chance to talk to her, maybe ever to marry her."

"I'm sure she was a belle of the ball."

Robin nods. "She was, but I'm not sure that _she_ knew it."

"Did the two of you ever dance?"

"Not until we married." He pauses. "The first time we were both drunk and at a birthday party for the daughter of one of my father's friends."

"Sometimes that's the best way."

He nods. "She never wanted that life, the life her mother insisted she should have."

"Living up to expectations is never easy, especially when the expectations are lofty."

Robin nods. "But looking at her now, I just… she's seems so natural in this sort of setting."

"That she does."

"This is the person she was supposed to grow up to be," Robin tells him, watching as she pulls the boys off the dance floor and moves toward an unclaimed chair near the opened French doors. "The Lady of a Great House… a house like this one."

He looks to Winston watching as the butler's brow arches. " _This_ house?"

"Perhaps," Robin says, taking along sip of his wine, keeping his eye on Regina as the boys scamper off toward an open game nearly the fountain. "Tomorrow morning, when I've sobered up, I'd like to have a conversation about it."

"I look forward to that," Winston says. "I must admit, it's a lovely thought having a family occupying this house for more than a couple of weeks each year."

Robin nods and finishes the rest of the wine in his glass. "I agree," he says gingerly. "And I think I'm finally drunk enough to enjoy dancing with my wife." Grinning, he hands the empty glass to Winston. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course."

Robin crosses the room and her smile upon seeing him is instant.

"M'lady," he calls out. "I can't help but notice you sitting here all alone."

"Taking a short break."

"Ah," he nods, "So would another dance be completely out of the question?"

At that, her brow arches. " _You_ want to dance?"

Robin laughs as his shoulders shrug. "I'm not sure that _I_ want to, but all of the wine I've drank in a very short amount of time tells me that I do."

Her eyes glitter as she rises up, holding out her hand to him. "Well, then who am I to argue?"

He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor, pulling her closer than necessary as his hand slides to the small of her back. He holds their hands out and takes a breath before taking the first step forward and easing her back. He tries to count the steps and pay attention to the way his feet move, but he finds it more challenging than anticipated–and not because of the wine.

Regina's closer to him than usual and smiling in a way that's a strange yet captivating mix of sweet and seductive, and he finds himself focused on her lips. He's not sure if she's wearing something new or something he hadn't noticed before, or maybe they're just stained from the wine–but regarlessless, her lips look soft and a plump, and too alluring to resist.

So he doesn't.

He catches a glimpse of her smile as he leans in, dropping her hand as his fingers skim up over her cheek and rub gently over her jaw. His tongue slips over hers as he eases her off of the dance floor, kissing her in front of the open doors. Her arms link around his neck and her fingers slip over the back of his neck, drawing him closer and deeper into the kiss.

At Sherwood, such action would be all anyone talked about–and by this point, someone would have stopped it. But here, no one seems to care. The music still plays and conversation continues, he can hear the footsteps of the others dancing and the laughter of the children playing just beyond them in the garden.

And when he lifts her off the ground, careful not to break their kiss, he spins her around and she giggles into his kiss–it's lighthearted and carefree, and he can't help but think exactly as it should be.

The sun is coming up as he eases himself back into an armchair by the hearth, tugging at his tie as he loosens it and pulls it off, breathing out in relief as his shirt loosens around his neck. Next, he works his fingers over the backside of his cufflinks, slowly but surely loosening them until they slip off of the fabric, freeing his wrist and stuffing the cufflinks into his pocket.

He smiles, feeling less restrained as he closes his eyes, his smile deepening as he hears Regina heading up down the hallway toward their room.

The party had officially ended an hour before, and some guests opted to stay the night. They'd been prepared for it, expecting that would be the case, and Regina had taken it upon herself to make sure that everyone was comfortable and had a place. He hadn't the stamina to be useful, so he'd retired to bed, fully anticipating that he'd be asleep by the time she joined him.

Yet here he was, struggling against sleep…

"There you are," he murmurs as she comes into the room, holding a candle, and shuts the door behind herself. "I was starting to worry that you'd fallen asleep on the stairs or some far off corridor on the other side of the house."

"No," she replies, shaking her head. "Shockingly, I am still awake." She laughs softly to herself and a grin pulls onto his lips as she does. "At this point, I might as well see if I can make it a full twenty-four hours."

"That doesn't sound fun."

"No? You wouldn't stay up with me?" She laughs as again as she moves toward him, stumbling slightly before coming to stand in front of him. "Can you help me with my dress? I sent Belle and Ruby up to bed hours ago," she tells him, sighing as she looks down at herself, lifting up her arm to reveal a row of lace-covered buttons. "It was designed so I _wouldn't_ need help, but I'm hopeless."

Grinning, he nods as he pulls himself up from the chair. "Of course," he tells her, reaching for her waist and drawing her to him, pressing a quick kiss to her hair before turning his attention to the buttons. "You were quite the hostess tonight, you know," he says as he undoes the first button. "I was rather impressed."

"I had fun. I'm not sure that makes me a good hostess, but I had a good time," she replies, watching as his fingers move to the second, then third buttons. "Did you?"

"I had an incredible night."

"Mm, I'm glad," she breathes out. "Oh, that feels nice." He grins as she wiggles her shoulders out of her dress, watching as the dress pools around her feet. "Ruby is an absolute genius," she tells him as his rubs her hands over her torso. "Building the corset into the dress was completely brilliant–and not having to wait to have it unlaced is well-worth having whale bone shoved up against my ribs for hours as she sewed it in."

"That sounds the exact opposite of brilliant. It sounds miserable."

"It wasn't so bad," she says, turning to him, watching the way his eyes linger over the very thin muslin that covers her and leaves very little to the imagination. "But it's better now."

"For what it's worth," he says, looking back to her. "You looked absolutely gorgeous."

"You might have mentioned that once or twice," she giggles as she reaches around herself to remove the choker. "You were quite handsome yourself, you know." He shrugs as she sets the necklace atop her dressing table. "I'm… not nearly as tired as I should be."

"I'm envious," he tells her, watching as she pulls off her earrings and sets them beside the choker. "I feel as though I could collapse at any moment."

"Hand me your cufflinks."

"Hm?"

"Your cufflinks," she repeats, holding out opened hand. "You put them in your pocket, and that's why you always manage to lose them."

Robin frowns. "How did you know that?"

"I know you," she tells him simply as he reaches into his pocket and transfers the cufflinks to her. He grins as he watches her set them next to her earrings, her finger tracing around the rubies on his cufflinks, creating a figure-eight, before turning to him. "You don't plan on sleeping in your tails, do you?"

"Oh," he murmurs, looking down at himself. "No. I suppose not."

"Need some help?"

"Oh, no, I'm–" He stops as her brow just upward as her grin turns coy. "Oh."

She moves toward him, pressing her palms to his chest. He swallows hard as Regina's fingers move over the buttons before tugging the shirt from his pants and pushing her hands inside of it. She sighs as her fingers touch his bare chest, and if he hand any qualms about what that coy grin of hers implied, they've now vanished completely.

"Regina–"

"Hmm?" She hums as her fingers ghost down his torso to the top of his trousers, her thumb looping underneath the clasp of his belt. "What?"

"We shouldn't."

"Why not?" She counters with wide eyes and a smile that's nearly impossible to refuse. "You don't want to?"

"I always want to," he says plainly. "But we're both tired and–"

"You can just lay back. I'll do all of the work."

She pushes him back slightly as his pants loosen.

"Regina, we should… um… really get to bed."

"I agree."

"To sleep," he clarifies, his voice husky and full of regret. "We've got a long journey ahead of us and–oh."

Her hand slips into his pants and beneath his undergarments, and her palm presses against his cock, her fingers loosely forming around it as her eyes widen. "I think about that night we spent together all of the time."

"I do, too," he admits.

"I miss being with you in that way."

"As do I."

"Then…"

"Regina," he cuts in, trying in vain to ignore the effect she's having on him. "We shouldn't."

"Please." He sighs and his eyes press closed, and as he attempts to step back and put just a sliver of distance between them, his pants slip down his hips, allowing her more access. "It seems even the universe wants this," she giggles softly as his arm forms around is hip. "We'll be careful."

"I thought wine made you tired."

"Not tonight."

"Oh, well, I still don't–"

Her lips brush over his, silencing him–and for a brief moment, she succeeds in her efforts to distract him. One arm folds around waist and he draws her in as she pulls her hand away, letting it slip up his chest to rest on his shoulder. His hand falls to her ass, rubbing gently over the curve as he kisses her slowly as the other hand brushes up over her cheek, his fingers threading into her hair as he draw her deeper.

Regina's leg wraps around his as he eases himself back, pulling her along with him as he returns to the chair by the hearth.

"I love you," he murmurs, breathlessly as he he adjusts her on his lap. "And please trust me when I say this is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do."

She blinks as her brow creases. "Robin–"

"We can't do this."

"Why not?"

"Because we're drunk. Or, you are."

"But, I–"

"Can't make this decision right now," he sighs. "I can't let you do something you'll regret come morning. Not again."

Her shoulders slump. "You're refusing me."

"No, not–" He stops. "Refuse is far too strong of a word."

"But that's what's happening."

"Maybe," he murmurs as his fingers knead at her hip. "But that last time we did what you're suggesting we do, we were in a similar state."

"I wanted it then, and–"

"And then morning came. You sobered up and realized that… you weren't ready." Taking a breath, he drops his head and presses a kiss to his shoulder. "That's alright, Regina. It's alright for you to not be ready."

"It seems silly, given that none of this is new to either of us."

"It's not," he counters. "We have years ahead of us, Regina. There's no need to rush anything."

"I suppose."

She's disappointed, he can tell, and he hates that he's the source of her disappointment. It occurs to him that he could give in, that he could take her to bed and be careful, just as she suggested; but, the memory of their first morning after still stings and she's not in the right state of mind to make such a decision.

"I love you," he reminds her. "And… as you've pointed out, there are _other_ things we can do."

She grins a bit. "It's just… I miss that closeness, that feeling…"

"I do, too," he admits. "We'll get there. Eventually. When you're ready for it."

Her eyes press closed and she draws in a breath–and he can tell that she's struggling. "It's just… something about being here," she tells him, as her eyes blink open. "It makes me… forget and…" She sighs. "You're right though. We shouldn't."

Dropping another kiss onto her shoulder, he pushes back the thin strap of her slip. "But like I said, other thing are perfectly acceptable, if you're willing." She grins again as his fingers slip beneath the other strap, and he leans forward to drop a kiss on the opposite shoulder. "What do you say? Would that be a worthy consolation prize?"

She giggles sofly. "I thought you were tired."

"Oh, I am," he murmurs as his lips glide over her collar bone. "Alas, it just so happens as I was waiting for you to come to bed, I was thinking about how nice it'd be to have a little nightcap."

"A nightcap."

"Yes," he tells her as he slowly tugs at the muslin fabric covering her chest. "I was considering all the ways I could ravish you with my tongue."

"We're you?" She asks, pulling back as her brow arches in disbelief. "Somehow I doubt that. You were half asleep."

"That is true, but you see, love, that's _always_ something I'm thinking of."

She blinks–and then laughs out. Her forehead rests against his as her hands slide up over his stubbly cheeks. "I like it when you don't shave," she murmurs, pecking at his lips. "Your beard tickles."

He grins and tips his chin up, capture her bottom lip between his and sucking softly at it–and then, giving her no warning, he stands, lifting her up and carrying her over to the bed. Her breath catches and her fingers press into his shoulder places, holding onto him as he moves–and when he lays her down, she pulls off her slip and looks up at him, her eyes fluttering as she smiles lazily.

"You're gorgeous," he tells her as he sits down on the edge of the bed and strums his fingers over her thigh. "So bloody gorgeous."

She smile and draws in a breath as he drops a kiss to her knee before parting her legs.

Her settles himself on the bed, laying on his stomach with her legs draped over his shoulders, and he dots kisses along her inner thighs–and the, grinning up at her, he leans in, swiping his tongue over her, swirling it around her clit before letting it slip back down. She lets out a breath and closes her eyes, smiling contently as he licks her.

"Mmm, don't stop."

"I won't," he murmurs, looking up at her momentarily as he grins. "I love the way you taste. I could spend forever, right here."

"Then do it," she sighs as his mouth returns to her–and he means it, he really could spend forever here with her, in this bedroom, in this house, in the life that they could build together here.


	24. Chapter 24

Regina's eyes flutter as she becomes aware of the sheet that's covering her–and suddenly, she is very aware that it's the _only_ thing covering her. **  
**

Her heartbeat quickens and her eyes stay pressed closed as a hazy memory of the previous night flickers…

She's aware that there are pieces of memory missing–a common occurrence when she drinks as much as she did the previous evening–and she doesn't remember excusing herself for the night or going up the stairs. One moment she'd been floating around the room, ensuring staying guests had a room to sleep in and those leaving had a carriage to take them back to the village, and then, next, she'd been slipping into their bedroom, holding the candle that had lit her way.

Robin had been sitting in an armchair by the hearth, and there was a fire burning, illuminating the room and casting light onto him. His tie was undone, his shirt partially unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his forearm–and there was something about the way he was sitting, leaning back against the chair, in spite of her exhaustion, gave her a moment's pause and made her consider whether or not she was truly ready for their evening to end.

She thought about what it'd been like to spend an evening dancing with him. The more he drank, the more he relaxed, and by the time Mrs. Potter found the boys asleep beneath the desert table, Robin was dragging her back onto the dance floor for another round. His hands lingered lower and lower, sliding down over her ass as they giggled and kissed, no longer paying attention to the rhythm of the dance and no longer concerned about their form. Anyone who was there was drunk, anyway, and it hardly seemed to matter to anyone.

What happened immediately after she came into the room was fuzzier than the rest–she remembers him smiling and looking glad to see her, and when he'd reached for her, it made her heart flutter with hopeful anticipation–and when he'd kissed her, she'd been practically overcome with lust for him.

She remembers his kiss clearly. It was warm and soft, and his lips tasted of apple wine and brown sugar–and as his tongue parted her lips and slid slowly against hers, she'd offered a content sigh and pulled him closer.

She doesn't remember him helping her out of her dress, but she remembers it being pooled on the floor at her feet, and though she doesn't remember his shirt coming off, she remembers the way her fingers slid slowly up his chest and she thought about what it'd be like to have him again, to let herself enjoy being with him again. She'd swallowed hard, then reached for his belt–and she could feel the familiar twinge between her legs as she thought about getting into bed with him, about how he'd hover over her as her legs parted, and how her breath would catch as he slipped inside of her, filling her as she leaned up to kiss him…

There was more–she knows that there was more, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember it. Her eyes press tight as she becomes increasingly aware of her nakedness and the flicker of a memory of Robin's tongue lapping the slick spot between her legs flashed. She easily remembers her head pressing back into the pillow as a low moan escaped her, enjoying the way his tongue ravished her–and now, she wonders if it'd ended there.

Regina flinches as she feels Robin's weight shift onto the bed, startling her as her eyes fly open–and when he looks back at her, he offers a guilty little grin.

"I'm sorry," he's quick to say. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Mm, you… you didn't," she manages, pulling herself up as she holds the sheet against her chest. "I… think I was awake."

Robin's brow arches. "How are you feeling?"

"Um…" She blinks up at him. She isn't sure. She isn't sure how she feels–and that sets her nerves on edge. "I… don't quite know."

"I can get you something," he offers. "A powder or some wat–"

"Robin," she cuts in. "Did we… um… I mean, last night, did we…" Her eyes widen and her jaw trembles as she tries in vain to remember what came next, but no matter what she does, her memories don't come. "I just–"

"No," he says as her voice fails. "We didn't sleep together. Not like that."

She's almost embarrassed by her relief, and she smiles a bit shyly as she finally lets her eyes meet his. "I just… woke up and…" she looks down at herself and her cheeks flush. "I'm naked and the last thing I remember is… being in bed with you and…"

"Nothing happened, Regina," he says, reaching out and tipping up her chin as a soft grin tugs at his lips. "At least nothing you weren't ready for." He shrugs as his grin brightens. "We fooled around a little bit, and then went to bed. That's it. That's all that happened."

She nods as she bites down on her lip. "I… wanted to. I remember wanting to."

"I know you did," he tells her. "And I did, too."

"But–"

"We didn't."

"Good," she breathes out. "I just–"

"You're not ready," he supplies, leaning in and pushing a soft kiss to her cheek. "And that's perfectly fine."

"I will be, though," she tells him, her eyes widening. "One day, I will be."

Robin nods as he pulls back. "How did you sleep?"

"I… think alright," she murmurs, drawing in a breath. "What, um… what time is it?"

"Just after ten."

At that, her eyes widen. "What? The morning's more than half gone!"

"It is," Robin laughs, "So, I suppose it's a good thing that we have nothing to do."

"Except pack up and get on our way."

Robin shrugs dismissively. "I'm not overly concerned about when we leave."

"We–"

"We will get back when we get back," Robin tells her, cutting in before her panic can set in. There's something about his demeanor that's different, and it's something she can't quite pinpoint. His shoulders are relaxed and his smile comes easily, and there, in spite of her, there's something so lighthearted about the moment. "You should eat," he tells her. "Mrs. Beakley–god only knows how she pulled it off–made an incredible breakfast. Everyone who stayed over night was treated to oatmeal and fresh fruit and this walnut bread that was _surprisingly_ delicious."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"You needed your sleep, and she saved enough for you to have a proper breakfast whenever you woke."

"Walnut bread does sound good."

"Oh, it was," he nods. "Smeared with apple butter and a sprinkled with a little cinnamon," he adds. "Roland nearly ate half the loaf."

She giggles. "I'm sure."

"Everyone's gone now. We could have a tray brought up for you. Like I said, it's already been prepared."

She nods, suddenly aware of the dull ache at her temples and at the base of her neck. "That'd be nice."

"Should I call for her?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head as she lays back. "Not yet."

"No?"

"No," she says, reaching for his hand, giving it a slight tug. "Not yet." Robin grins and stretches out beside her, gently strumming his fingers over her arm as her eyes momentarily close. "Will you lay with me for a bit?"

"There's nothing else I'd rather do."

A little giggle escapes her. It's such a cheesy response and there are a hundred other things they should be doing, but it makes her heart flutter and her cheeks warm. She nudges herself toward him to cuddle in a bit closer, and she finds herself thinking about how wonderful it'd be to stay just as they are for the rest of the day, just the two of them in their happy little bubble.

Robin's hand dips beneath the sheet that covers her, and his fingers edge over her hip, gently turning her toward him as he shifts closer. He drops a kiss to her forehead and his nose rubs against hers, and she sighs contently as he feels him draw in a breath, breathing her in as he cuddles closer.

"I don't want to leave," he admits in a voice that's barely audible. "I like it here. I like _you_ here."

"Me?"

"Mhm," he murmurs. "You were radiant last night."

"I was drunk," she tells him as she nuzzles against him. "I was drunker than I've been in a _long_ time."

"No, not that…" He laughs. "I watched you for a long time last night, watching how you interacted with our guests… the way your smiled and laughed with them, how carefree you seemed.'

"Like I said, I'd had a lot to drink."

"You were stunning."

"That's an overstatement."

"It's not," he insists. "You were stunning, in every way."

She giggles. "Maybe I should have Winston pack up a case of that wine for us. That is, if it makes me so irresistible to you."

"You're always irresistible to me," he says as his lips slide over her jaw. "But no matter what you say, it wasn't the wine. It was you." She turns, rolling onto her side as hand slips over his shoulder, forcing his lips to the nape of her neck. "Normally, wine makes you sleepy and–" He stops and a low laugh rumbles from his gut. "And sometimes, it makes you a bit frisky–"

"Robin–"

"Last night, was different."

"Considering I woke up naked and in a panic, I'm not sure that it was."

He laughs and his breath tickles her skin. "I was proud of you." Regina pulls back, and her brow arches, but before she can say anything, a smile pulls across his face and shines through his eyes. "I'm always proud of you, though."

"But especially so last night?"

"Yes," he says, just before his lips return to her jaw. "And, I'll be honest," he tells her, laughing against her skin. "That made _me_ a little frisky."

Laughing out, she pushes at his shoulder, pushing him onto his back as she rolls onto her side. She grins down at him, her fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt and just as she had the night before, she feels that twinge at her core that urges her to let this continue–to peel off his clothes and to get on top of him, to pleasure him and herself until she collapses breathlessly against his chest.

"I should get dressed," she says instead. "Or at least put on a nightdress and call for Belle."

"She and Ruby went for a walk," he tells her, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, I like you this way."

"Naked?"

"Comfortable."

"Oh…"

"You're sure that I can't convince you to stay?"

Biting down on her lip, she grimaces. "Robin, we've talked about this."

"I know," he tells her. "You want to go back… for reasons I can't quite understand, but reasons I respect, nonetheless." He sighs, once again reaching up and caressing the back of his fingers over her cheek. "I just wish you'd be a little selfish, and stay because you want to, instead of going back because you feel like you have to."

"We live there, Robin."

"That doesn't mean it's home."

Her brow furrows as she considers his words, her head too fuzzy to really process them. "What do you mean?" She asks, pulling back a bit so that her eyes can meet his. "I don't… quite know what you mean by that."

Robin blinks, sighing as he falls back against the pillow–and for a moment, he looks lost in thought. He stares up at the ceiling grinning softly as if contemplating his response, and she watches curiously, wondering…

"Sherwood has always been my father's home," he tells her. "It's never quite felt like mine."

For a moment, she considers. "I felt that way about Dragon Head," she offers, still not really certain how it is that they've gotten to this particular conversation. "Until I left it. Then, I missed it."

"Did you?"

She nods, remembering how difficult it'd been for her to sleep in those first months in the tiny apartment above the Daniel's cousin's tavern. The bed was rough and lumpy, the sounds from the tavern continually pulled her back to consciousness as she drifted to sleep, and more times than not, Daniel wasn't there with her–and then, of course, there was the growing discomfort that came with pregnancy. "I… did," she admits. "Or, at the very least, I missed my father."

"He missed you."

She grins and scrunches her nose. "Can we… not talk about my father right now?" Robin's brow furrows. "I just… I'm naked and in bed with you, and just a few minutes ago, my thoughts were not on things I'd ever like to associate with my father."

Sitting up, Robin reaches for her, laughing out as he nods. His hand sweeps up against her jaw and pushes into her messy hair, drawing her in as he pecks at her lips. "Alright," he concedes. "I was just thinking that, perhaps, it'd be nice if you and I had a place that felt like home."

"I always thought home was more about people rather than a place."

"Couldn't it be both?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I suppose so, even if I've never experienced it."

"What about here?"

"Hm?"

"Does this place feel like home?"

She blinks–she hadn't really thought of it. Sure, she enjoyed being at this house and surrounded by the people in it, but it was a getaway and that colored things differently. "I… don't know," she admits. "We've only been here a couple of times."

"But we've been happy here."

"Yes," she agrees easily. "We have been."

Robin's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything–and once more, he looks lost in thought. But before she can ask, her stomach rumbles and then her cheeks flush with embarrassment as Robin looks down between them, realizing the gurgling rumble came from her gut.

"You should eat."

"I am hungry."

"I'll call Mrs. Beakley and have tray brought up."

She watches as he rolls away from her, tugging gently at a silky cord at their bedside. She sighs as she gathers the sheet back up around herself, wrapping it around her body and holding it at her chest as she slides her legs over the edge of the bed, reluctantly getting up to put on a nightdress.

It occurs to her as she passes into the dressing room that she could very well dress herself–after all, she did it for years, and her simpler dresses don't require much assistance–but the thought is a fleeting one. She reaches for the thin muslin gown as she drops the sheet, letting it pool at her feet as she lifts the night dress over her head and lets it fall around her. For a moment, she just stares at herself in the shapeless garment. She tugs at the sides tightening it to show her form and a hint of a grin pulls at her lips before she lets go, and the nightdress takes on a its formless shape once more. She chooses not exert the effort necessary to lace it up fully, then pads back to the bedroom and crawls back into bed.

Her eye catches Robin, still laying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling with that pensive but dreamy look on his face. She takes a breath and ignores the ache at her temples as edges herself toward him, smiling as his arm folds around her. She rests her head on his chest, listening to him breathe, every now and then she catches the soft thump of his heart beat…

She's not entirely sure how long they lay like that–together in a comfortable silence–but she's brought back into the present moment when a light knock rasps at the door. She sits up and smiles as Mrs. Beakley comes into the room, carrying with her breakfast tray. She can smell the apple butter and cinnamon, and there's a little bowl of cut up fruit beside the bread–and then the with a glint in her eye, Mrs. Beakley sets the tray down over her lpa, pointing out the tea they discussed. Regina bites down on her lip as she glances toward Robin, and then, looking back to the cook, she thanks her for keeping a tray warm for her in spite of her obvious tardiness for breakfast. Mrs. Beakley nods and smiles, assuring her that it was no trouble and as she excuses herself back to the kitchen, Robin sits up beside her. He slides his arm loosely around her waist as chin rests on her shoulder and somehow, in that moment, she feels a warmth in her chest, and a sudden understanding of what Robin meant by a place feeling like home.

And she finds herself thinking that this would be such a pleasant way to start every day.

They left the hunting lodge later than expected.

Their day had gotten off to a slow start, and it'd been well-past noon when Robin and Regina emerged from their chambers. The carriages were all packed up and ready to go, but the boys had gone on a little outing to the stables with Winston, and though Mrs. Potter had offered it, neither Robin nor Regina wanted to be the one who cut their fun short. So, they'd waited.

When the boys returned, they were each in need of a bath and by the time that was done, dinner was upon them. Mrs. Beakley made a stew from the leftover pork, and wrapped up some dried fruit and some of the walnut bread for them to take with them on the journey back to Sherwood. Then, for the boys, she packed an entire tin of cinnamon cookies to munch on as they traveled. Regina thanked her, reminding her that the cookies were unnecessary and Mrs. Beakley teased that the boys likely thought just the opposite–and then she pulled Regina aside and presented her with a small, cherry wood tea chest. The top of the chest was engraved with a full box elder and beneath it was stamped "The Tree of Life" in a loopy cursive was a gold clasp that kept it shut and gold stripes painted along the edges of the top and around the chest's middle. Her fingers trembled slightly as Mrs. Beakley opened the top. It was line with a soft blue fabric and in the bottom was a deep tin that took up about two-thirds of the box–and it was filled with dried Queen Anne's Lace that could be boiled for tea. There were two other compartments in the chest, each with the a little tin lid. One held the lemon-soaked sponge and the other was stocked with assurance caps. Regina's cheeks flushed as Mrs. Beakley explained that instructions for the tea were pinned to the fabric that lined the top of the chest–and as she nodded a bit awkwardly, Mrs. Beakley closed the chest, grinning as she told her the supply should last until they returned in December, and if it didn't, she could write and she'd send her more.

Regina fumbled through a thank you and Mrs. Beakley only smiled, nodding as she squeezed her hand.

To make up for lost time, they'd driven through the night, only stopping twice that day to give the horses a rest. The first time they'd stopped they'd set up a little picnic breakfast and for an hour or so, they let the boys play a game of tag. Regina's heart fluttered as Robin pressed a hasty kiss to her cheek before he'd gotten up to chase the boys, and when he scooped them each up in an arm and spun them around, she thought it was entirely possible that her heart may burst.

The rest of the day had been dull, consisting mostly of traveling through desolate countryside. By the time they found a little inn in a small village, they were all a bit grumpy and exhausted, and by the time everyone was settled in a room for the night, it was well-past midnight.

She'd meant to get Henry and Roland changed into their night clothes, but as soon as she sat down on she edge of the bed to open up their trunk, they'd climbed into bed with with her. They tugged her down and cuddled into her sides and she didn't have the heart to move them–so there she laid, awkwardly against the pillows of the small bed, strumming her fingers rhymically up and down each boy's back…

Lazily, Regina grins as Robin comes into the room with two glasses of whiskey balances delicately in his palm. "A nightcap, love?"

"Oh," she murmurs, looking down at herself. "Even if I wanted to, I'm not sure that I could accept."

Robin laughs as he spots the boys and closes the door behind himself. Carefully he sets the glasses onto the top of the dresser and comes closer, peering down at the boys. "Are they asleep?"

"Mhm," she nods, watching as sits down on the edge of the bed. "They've been out cold for… about as long as we've been in this room."

Robin grins as he leans across the bed, sliding an arm underneath Roland and slowly lifting him off of Regina. Roland lets out a little grunt as Robin picks him up, and Regina smiles as his head flops to rest on Robin's shoulder. He carries him to the little couch by the window and draws one the blanket Mrs. Potter had packed for the boys up around his shoulders, and for a moment, he lingers, waiting to see if he stays asleep. Then, when Roland is settled, Robin returns for Henry. He carefully plucks up off of Regina and lays him down on the opposite end of the couch. Henry snuggles against his pillow as Robin draws up the second blanket–and she can't help the soft chuckle that escapes her as Henry gropes for his dragon. Robin moves it closer and kneels down between them, once again adjusting their blankets and pillows before smoothing their hair from their foreheads. He leans in and kisses them each–and then he turns his attention to her.

"A drink, m'lady?" He asks as a slow grin tugs at his lips. "The bartender assured me this is _the best_ whiskey of any realm… and that's why he charges such an egregious amount for such a little bit."

'You have your doubts," she says, stretching out her arms as she its up and chuckling softly as he nods. "I was just going to make some tea."

"Tea? At this hour?" She nods as her legs fall over the edge of the bed and she reaches for the small trunk that sits in front of the nightstand. She can feel him watching as he sinks down onto his side of the bed and lays back against the pillows, stretching out his legs. "It seems a lot of effort when a glass of whiskey is right here."

"Yes," she tells him without explanation, grinning, she pulls the tea chest that Mrs. Beakley and sets it on the bed. "I'm sure."

"Are you? That's a shame."

She nods. "You seem to be peddling that whiskey as much as the bartender."

"I hear it's the best," he tells her, tipping his chin up haughty, and in a way that makes her giggle. "And I want only the best for my wife."

"I'll stick with my tea."

"You could put the whiskey _in_ the tea."

Her eyes narrow. "You like to push off alcohol on me."

"Push off is a strong accusation."

"Doesn't make it less true," she counters playfully as her fingers trace the edge of the tea chest. "You seem to like getting me drunk."

"A glass of whiskey wouldn't get you drunk. I don't care what that bartender says, it's not _that_ good."

"Still."

"It's not that I like getting you drunk," he says, sighing after a moment's passed. "I just… like getting you _relaxed_."

A soft grin tugs onto her lips. "I know and I appreciate that."

She lifts the lid of the best and unpins Mrs. Beakley's little instruction booklet–and from the corner of her eye, she watches Robin sit up and pour her glass of whiskey into his and takes a short sip. "My mother had a tea chest like that," he tells her. "I remember the little compartments."

"Did she?"

"Yes," he murmurs. "And that smell, it's–" He laughs. "I'd forgotten until just now, but whenever she made tea for herself, I remembered her sitting room always smelled of lemons, but she didn't like lemon in her tea."

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. But her cheeks flush slight as she focuses down on the little spoon nestled into the Queen Anne's Lace. "Well, there's not any lemon in this tea, either."

"No? I assumed it was ground up in there somewhere," he tells her, peering into the tea chest. "I certainly smell it–and a lot of it."

"The lemon is… for something else." She looks up at him, biting down on her lip as as she draws in a breath. "Apparently, I am the only woman alive who doesn't know, um… about these little tricks."

Robin's brow furrows. "Tricks?"

"Yes, to, um… prevent… um… unwanted pregnancy." She watches as his brows arch and once again, her cheeks flush. "According to Mrs. Beakley's mother who was a midwife, there are… a, um… a few different of things we could… employ…to, um–"

Her voice trails off and she sighs. This isn't something she should be awkward and shy about–not with him, at least–and it seems ridiculous to think that there's some sort of scandal in merely talking about being intimate with a man she's married to–a man she's already been intimate with, in a variety of ways.

"The tea," she says, trying again, "is Queen Anne's lace. Mrs. Beakley's mother used to grow it and give it to her patients when they didn't want more children or… children at all. It reduces fertility as long as it's used regularly." She shrugs, not entirely sure of the specifics. "She says it's worked for a lot of women and so there's no reason to think that it wouldn't work for me."

"And, she… gave some to you?"

"Yes."

"Ah."

"You're… not upset."

"Not in the least," Robin says as a toothy grin stretches across his lips. "How does it work?"

"I drink it a couple of times a day, and apparently, in about a month's time, I should notice differences in myself." She pauses as his brow creases with curiosity. "I'll spare you the details."

"You don't have to."

"They're not necessary," she admits with a shrug. "Of course, though, it's not completely foolproof."

"No, nothing is."

"That's where the lemon comes in," she says, pointing to the tin containing the sponge. "Again, I'm not sure how or why it works, just that it does… apparently."

"Apparently…"

She nods. "I can wear it when we, um… when we're together."

"Ah."

"Yes," she says, swallowing hard in an effort to maintain her composure.

"And in the third tin?"

"Oh," she says, giggling uncomfortably. "That is actually something for you."

"Me?" he asks, gesturing to himself, looking both surprised and excited–and in that moment, she remembers Mrs. Beakley gently informing her that _all_ her boys are soothed by milk and cookies. "I get something?"

"Yes."

"Do tell!"

She laughs as her finger slips underneath the lip of the little tin. "Assurance caps."

"Caps."

"Yes," she nods. "Just to… um… be sure that– 

"Things don't spilled out to where they're not supposed to be."

She grins. "That's one way of explaining it." She watches as he reaches for the tin, his thumb and forefinger pulling out a long yellow-ish sheath. He unfolds it and pushes two fingers inside, examining its every detail. "I assume it's safe to say you haven't worn one before."

"I haven't," he admits. "But it's soft and feels like skin, though it's a bit coarser."

"Lambskin," she tells him, biting down on her bottom lip as he looks up at her. "It's treated with… something," she says, "I don't know what, but–"

"That doesn't matter," he says, looking back to the cap on his fingers, watching as he moves his fingers inside of it. "It stretches."

"Yes."

"So, the combination of all of this–"

"Should do the trick."

"So, we can–"

"Yes," she nods, her cheeks warming slightly as he looks back to her, grinning brightly–and his grin forces hers and then a soft giggle escapes her. "I'm still nervous about it."

"Then we don't ha–"

"But I want to," she tells him, her voice firmer than intended. "I…think about that night a lot."

"As do I."

"Contrary to the way it seems, I did enjoy being with you and–"

"Regina," Robin cuts in, reaching over and giving her hand a reassuring little squeeze. "You don't have to explain yourself."

"But I–"

"We weren't ready," he tells her simply. "We had one wonderful night together and one day soon we'll have another." A grin pulls onto his lips as his thumb rubs at her wrist. "And another and another and–" He stops when she laughs and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "And until then, please, drink your tea."

"That's the plan," she says, watching as he looks back to the cap on his fingers. "You're… alright with that?"

"This?" He asks, holding it up. "Why wouldn't I be? You're doing your part and I should do mine."

"Right," she nods. "It's just… most married men don't…" She stops and shifts uncomfortably, slowly reaching out and pulling the cap from his fingers. "Nevermind."

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"You were going to say something."

"No," she murmurs as she fold that cap back up and puts it in the tin. "Nothing worth saying, anyway."

"How long do they last?"

"Hm?"

"The caps," he clarifies. "There are only a few in there."

"Oh, um… more than once, certainly," she tells him. "I don't know for sure. I've never, um… used them."

Robin nods and sits up, taking a quick sip of his nearly forgotten whiskey. "I suppose we'll figure it out."

"Yes, I suppose we will."

She giggles softly as she shifts off the bed to boil a pot of water and she can feel him watching her as she reads through Mrs. Beakley's instructions for the tea. Their conversation shifts to their plans for the next day and the rest of the journey back to Sherwood and away from more difficult-to-discuss topics like contraceptives.

She listens as Robin talks about wanting to stop at about the halfway mark to give both the horses and the boys a rest. While waiting for her tea, he sips his whiskey–which he reports does not live up to the expectation set by the bartender–and mentions an advertisement he saw when he was downstairs in the pub, something promising magic tricks, songs, exotic animals from far away lands, and fortune teller who could look into their souls. At that, her brow jutts up and he laughs softly, admitting the latter part did sound somewhat terrifying, but the rest seemed fun and something that the boys would enjoy. A bit reluctantly, she agrees, but she hesitates to say that they could go, and as she pours the hot water into her tea cup, she reminds him that they have a tight schedule and were already cutting it close.

Robin shifts on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and stretching out his legs as she sits down on her side, sipping his whiskey as she sips her tea.

"I just don't understand why we _have_ to be at this dinner party."

"It's important to your father. We've already talked about this. We've talked about this _numerous_ times now."

"But I still don't–"

"It's important to your father."

"So is bringing the Indian Caste system to England, but neither of us is rushing to do that."

Regina's eyes roll. "As I said before, I don't want to give him any more reason to dislike me."

"His opinion and favor aren't worth winning."

"Still," she murmurs. "It's important for me to try."

Robin sighs and nods, and takes a sip of his whiskey. "I think you'll succeed."

"Do you?"

"Not tomorrow night, but eventually," he admits. "It's an effort for him to disapprove of you, you know."

"I doubt that. I've given him a great deal to work with."

"No," he murmurs. "You've quite a few qualities he admires in a person. You're smart and pragmatic, you're always thinking four steps ahead of me and coming up with how to deal with problems that haven't even yet arisen. You're a wonderful mother to Henry and Roland, and though it might not seem it, that's important to him." He grins as he looks over at her. "When you do something you put your whole heart into it, you don't give up easily–"

"You're telling me I'm stubborn."

"In the best of ways."

She grins and takes a sip of her tea. "Ah. I see."

"But most importantly, you've a sense of loyalty and obligation. You understand the role you've assumed, and even though it wasn't your choice, you've embraced it and the other night you flourished in it." He laughs softly and tosses back the rest of the whiskey. "Give him time. He'll come around, and there will be a day he likes you better than he likes me."

"You're his son." 

"And?"

Regina laughs and takes another, longer sip of the tea as she considers what he's said–and then, her brow furrows. "If all that's true, and those are qualities he admires in a person, what exactly does he see in Zelena Greene?"

His face scrunches as he sets his now empty glass on the bedside table, and when he looks back at her, it looks as though he's smelled something foul. "I'd really rather not know."

 _Regina's heart races as she jolts up and looks around the darkened room. Her breath is ragged and her skin is clammy, and as she swallows hard, she feels like she's on the verge of tears…_

 _She draws in a few deliberate breathes and tries to calm herself, slowly easing back against the pillows–and momentarily, she's glad that she didn't wake Robin or the boys. She rolls onto her side, eager to cuddle up to her sleeping husband for comfort, but when she reaches for him, her hand falls into emptiness._

 _He's isn't there._

 _Her heart starts to beat faster as she sits back up and squints her eyes, looking aimlessly around the room, and she finds that there's something different about it, though she can't pinpoint what it is…_

 _Again, looks to the spot where Robin laid, her eyes adjusting enough for her to examine his side of the bed–the blanket is folded back, but there's a dent in the pillow and when she presses her palm to the mattress, she finds that it's still warm. It's then that she notices a nearly burned out candle at his bedside that illuminates the doorway. She takes a breath and lays back down. His coat isn't hanging on the peg by the door and she tells herself there are hundreds of reasons he might've gotten up in the middle of the night and left their room. He might've been thirsty and gone down for a drink, or perhaps he needed to use the privy. Yet, no matter what she tells herself, she can't quite shake the feeling of dread that fills her and no matter what she does, she can't seem to stop her heart from racing…_

 _It's then that her thoughts shift unexpectedly to Daniel and another night she'd inexplicably awoken with a start, and when she thinks of how she'd found him–lying motionless and contorted on the dewy grass just beyond the stables–her eyes fill with tears, and suddenly, she can't lay back down, much less lay still…_

 _Throwing her feet over the edge of the bed, she glaces to the boys and finds that they're both still sleeping peacefully. She reaches for her robe and ties it around herself, not really caring that about her state of undress. She takes the candle and leaves the room, walking slowly down the corridor toward the stairs that will take her down to the tavern. As she passes a door she hears a breathy sigh follows by a grunt that sounds a bit like a growl, and her eyes press closed as she thinks about what's happening behind the door…_

 _She doesn't linger though; instead, she continues on her way, her knot in her stomach clenching with every step._

 _Finally, she makes her way down to the to the pub and finds it still crowded. Her eyes search the room for him, hoping to find him sitting at the bar nursing a mug of ale–and it takes a few scans over the room for her to realize that it looks very different than it did before. Furniture is moved and there's a window by the door that she doesn't remember seeing–and then as her eyes shift to the bar, she finds its eerily similar to the one in the tavern she and Daniel had lived above._

 _She doesn't have time to consider it, though, because it's then that she spots Robin. He's perched on a stool whispering with one of the barkeeps. Her shoulders relax and she smiles in relief–and just as starts to turn to go back upstairs, she stops cold in her tracks._

 _A man is standing in front of her–a man who looks vaguely familiar to her–and he smiles drunkenly as he reaches for her. She stands there, rooted in place, as his eyes trail over her and his hand squeezes at her backside–and as he leans in and whispers that he hopes there's nothing beneath her robe, she catches Robin's glare._

 _His eyes are hard and full of disgust–and when she tries to pull out of the stranger's hold, he scoffs and looks away. The barkeep looks between them and says something she can't quite hear, and nearly as soon as he finishes speaking, Robin looks back to her and shakes his head before reaching into his pocket and tossing a few coins down onto the bar. She struggles free and takes a few steps forward, crying out that she can explain. He stops and looks to her again, looking her up and down with more judgement than she's ever seen from him, and when she says his name again, he cuts her off and tells her she isn't worth it before turning on his heels and leaving the bar…_

"Regina, hey…" She flinches as he reaches for her, and her eyes widen as she looks to him, finding his blue eyes soft and filled with concern. "It's alright," he tells her, stroking the back of his hand over her arm. "You're alright. Whatever it was, it was just a dream."

"No…"

"It was."

"Robin, it wasn't though," she breathes out, her chest tight as tears burn in her eyes. "It wasn't just a dream."

"It was, love," he murmurs as he edges toward her as his hand slips to her back to rub between her shoulder blades. "It was all a dream."

Her eyes press closed and tears seep from the sides. It wasn't–not entirely.

"You're alright."

"The way you looked at me–"

"Wasn't real."

"But–"

"It was a dream," he says again

"Robin, you were so angry–"

"I'm not angry, love."

"But you will–"

"No."

She blinks back her tears and looks at him–and then finally, she nods in concession.

"Come here," he murmurs. "Let me hold you." She nods and lets him pull her to him. He eases them back and folds his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She hesitates. "No."

"You're sure? I didn't mean to cut you off."

Regina presses her eyes closed and draws in a breath, holding onto it for a moment before slowly releasing it–even in dream, she never wanted him to see her that way. She takes another breath as she feels herself relax a little and the dream begins to fade. GHer heart beat slows to a more normal pace, and with every deep breath she draws in, she feels herself relaxing more and more in his arms until finally, she's comfortable.

He didn't know.

As real as her fears were to her, they weren't real to him.

Her secret was still safe…

"Did I wake you?"

"You did," he tells her. "You were crying."

"Oh…"

"I didn't realize you were having a nightmare, at first."

"I'm sor–"

"Don't apologize," he interjects, squeezing her a little closer. "I'm just glad I was able to wake you and end your obvious suffering."

"I am, too," she admits. "I'm not sure that I want to go back to sleep."

"Then let's stay up."

"Robin, we have–"

"Nothing that's all that important to do in the morning," he says, his voice rising over hers as he squeezes her to him and presses another kiss to her hair. "You're sure you don't want to talk about it?"

She nods. "It was bad enough my dream version of you had to know."

He lifts his head and peers down at her. "Regina–"

"Honestly, I barely remember it now–other than that little bit."

"You just remember that I… didn't take something well?"

She nods. "You were upset with me and you walked out. You left me, I think."

"Well," he scoffs. "I sound like a jackass."

"I deserved it."

"I doubt that."

A half-hearted grin pulls at the corner of her mouth. "You don't even know what I'd done, or… what I let happen… or…" She sighs. "It doesn't matter."

"That," he says, looking pointedly at her, "We can agree on," he tells her. "Not only was it a dream, you'd never deserve me walking away from you."

Before she can respond, he sits up and that forces her to sit up, too. In the dark, he reaches for the candle and then a match, and a moment later, there's a warm glow surrounding them. She can see him more clearly now, and his gaze is gentle and sweet–even if a bit groggy–and when he grins at her, his eyes nearly light up.

In spite of herself, she smiles, watching as he gets out of bed and moves toward the boys' trunk–a trunk they'd filled with all sorts of games and toys to make their trip more enjoyable–and he fishes out a deck of cards.

"Your father is Spanish, right?"

"Yes," she nods, not really sure why he's asking. "My grandparents immigrated in the '40s."

"I think I knew that," he murmurs, getting back into the bed. "I'm not sure why, but I think I knew."

"I didn't tell you."

"No," he breathes out, shrugging as settles himself at the end of the bed. "It was something else…"

"That's a bit odd," she tells him, watching as he flips open the box and drops the cards into his hand and begins to shuffle them. "Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if he'd taught you to play Blackjack."

She blinks. "I… don't know what that is."

"It's a Spanish card game," he tells her. "Jefferson taught it to me when we were kids, he–"

Her shoulders tense at the mention of Jefferson Hatfield's name–and she shifts uncomfortably when Robin notices. He doesn't say anything about it, though, he just grins and continues to shuffle.

"Anyhow, Jefferson taught me and then I spent my teenage years winning his inheritance, little by little."

"Y-you gambled with him?"

"When we were kids."

"Not, um… recently?"

Robin blinks. His lips part as though he's going to say something, but then he stops and shakes his head. "Not recently," he confirms. "I told you once that I never cared for him, even back then, but our fathers were friends and–" He stops as she shifts again, this time swallowing to conceal a shaky breath. "I played cards and billiards sporadically after I married Marian, and after I lost her, it was even less frequently."

"Oh, I… I think I knew that."

"He stopped inviting me," Robin tells her, waiting until she looks back at him to continue. "I knocked a few of his teeth out after he made some comments I didn't much care for."

"You… um, you told me that, I think," she murmurs, her mouth suddenly dry and her stomach unsettled. "A while back, you… you told me that."

"Right, well…" He sighs and then smiles, "I almost miss handing him his ass and walking off with some precious heirloom."

"Almost?"

He nods as their eyes meet. "I've no room in my life for scum like him." That should come as a relief, but it doesn't–it only makes the knot in her stomach tighten–because if he thinks what someone like Jefferson Hatfield did reduced him to scum, she could only imagine what he'd think of _her_. "Now, on to much more enjoyable topics," he says, grinning as gives the deck one last shuffle. "The point of the game is to get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over…"

They arrive back at Sherwood unceremoniously and with just more than an hour to spare–and before they'd even made it out of the carriage, the weight of being back at Sherwood was heavy on their shoulders.

He'd been in a good mood the whole day, enjoying the time with Regina and the boys and there had even been a part of him that was looking forward to returning home. But as their carriage had started up the long approach, he could see that their arrival was all but forgotten. There was no staff to greet them and though he never much liked the pomp the accompanied any and all arrivals, his father never missed an opportunity to feel important–and typically anyone's arrival at Sherwood did just that.

Regina sighed as she looked over at him, noting the shift in his demeanor and gently pressed her hand to his arm, reminding him that the staff was likely busy preparing for the dinner party later that evening. As the carriage pulled up to the front of the house, Regina again reminded him that it wasn't a big deal nor something he'd normally expect, but to him it was just another show of disapproval. John's eyes met his as they got don from the carriage, and for an all too brief moment, he had an ally to validate his annoyance–and then, a tight grin pulled onto John's lips as he told him he'd unload the trunks, then scrounge up a footman or two to take their things back to their chambers.

Robin nodded as Regina thanked him as she hoisted Roland up onto her hip and took Henry by the side, leaving him to follow her into the house.

Mal greeted her at the top of the stairs, reaching for Roland as Regina asked her something he didn't quite hear, and as he joined Regina, Mal only nodded in response before excusing herself to the nursery with the boys…

"They seem awfully glad to see her."

"They are," Regina says, leaning back into him as his arm slips around her waist. "And she seems glad to see them."

"Or perhaps just… glad."

"Maybe," Regina nods. "Though I think _glad_ is a bit too strong of a word." Sighing, she looks back at him. "Even if the reading of Rose's will went well, I can't imagine she's _glad_ about it."

"No…"

"But I hope it went well. She deserves it."

"Is there a chance our nanny and tutor might find herself a proper heiress?"

"Possibly," Regina admits. "Rose's father divided the money three ways, since he had all girls."

"That was smart."

"It was."

"Do you think she'd leave?"

Regina shakes her had. "She'd go crazy with nothing to do. She'd never be able to sit still and pick flowers and embroider pillows all day." She grins back at him from over her shoulder. "So, I doubt we'll need to worry about finding a replacement."

"Good," he murmurs, pulling her back against him and pressing a kiss to her hair. "I like having her here."

"Do you?"

"I do," he says closing his eyes as he nuzzles against her and tries to stifle a yawn. "She likes you, she's wonderful with our boys and she gets under my father's skin."

"What's not to like then?" Regina asks, chuckling softly as she leans back into him and sighs.

"Are you sure we have to go to this party?"

"Positive."

"Wouldn't you rather take a nap?"

"Of course I would."

"Then–"

"We've talked about this, Robin," Regina cuts in, pulling away as she turns to face him. "You know this is important."

"I know," he says flatly–he knows, he just doesn't understand. "You've been telling me that for weeks."

"I have," she confirms, unncessarily. "Besides, it's just a few hours."

"Of agony."

"Robin–"

"Fine," he sigh. "I'll play along."

She nods as a lopsided little grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "I just… I think it'd be nice to _finally_ do something right in his eyes. Just a little thing that… that might start to turn the tide."

"You realize he's not prone to change. He's been ornery and smug for as long as I can remember, and it gets worse with age."

"I'm not expecting any miracles, just maybe for him not to cringe at the very sight of me."

"Regina–"

"It's just dinner."

"I know, but–" his voice trails off and he sighs, drawing in a long breath that he slowly releases as his eyes flutter open. "Wouldn't a nap be much nicer? Pillows don't cringe, you know."

"Robin," she sighs, not even cracking the slightest of smiles at his poor attempt at a joke. "This is importantly to me. I want to go and I want to at least _try_."

He softens as she blinks up at him, almost shyly as her lip catches between her teeth–and even if he wanted to, he couldn't deny her anything. So finally, he nods his concession, sighing as her smile nearly breaks his heart–she looks so hopeful and since they started off on the road toward Sherwood earlier that morning, there'd been a nagging feeling at his core that told him returning was a mistake, that if they could just delay for one more day, things would be better. But he couldn't quite explain _why_ he felt this way and Regina seemed determined, refuting his every attempt at stalling.

"If this is what you want."

Leaning up onto her toes, she leans in and pecks his cheek. "It's what I want."

"Then I suppose I'll go find John and have him dress me in my old room." He pauses, looking past her momentarily. "Shall we rendezvous again here in about forty minutes?"

She nods. "That should be enough time for Belle to

"Well, she has Ruby's help tonight."

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. "She does."

Regina leans on to her toes and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and then he's left alone in the long empty hallway, hoping that her plan doesn't horribly backfire–and just as he tries to reason with himself and give his father the benefit of doubt, the sinking feeling he'd battled all day returns in tenfold.

"Sir–"

He turns to see John a few feet ahead of him and sighs, pushing down his worry and reminding him that it's likely unwarranted. His father was a lot of unsavory things–he was blunt and shrewd, stuck in his ways and resistant to anything that wasn't his idea. He rejected anyone who didn't conform to the expectations he set in place and his expectations were fickle and ever-changing. But at the end of the day, he hated spectacles and gossip, and he grasped onto the societal norms of status and position as though his entire existence depended on it.

But Zelena was a dark horse.

She was new to the mix and changing things in ways he hadn't yet learned to navigate–and he knew that she'd been filling his father's head with things that he'd otherwise have no way of knowing, and in a few short weeks he'd gone from disliking and distrusting Regina to a hatred he didn't bother to conceal.

As he followed John into the room he used to occupy, he found himself lingering on his father's shift from wanting another heir to secure the family's fortune to outright opposing the idea–and again, he felt that tightening at his core as he thought of the secret Regina held, the one she couldn't bear to confess–and he wondered, wishing that he could talk to his father, that he could confide in him and explain.

"Are you glad to be home, sir?"

Robin blinks, looking at John through the mirror and finding his smile coy. "Not especially."

"You know, it isn't my place to ask, but I couldn't help but notice that you and Winston spent the morning behind closed doors in the library."

"We did."

"Perhaps a change is coming?"

Robin chuckles as John's brow arches. "Perhaps."

"For what it's worth, I think it'd be a wise choice."

"Unfortunately, it's not just as simple as knowing it's the right choice."

"Of course not," John sighs. "But that goes a long way."

"It does."

"Would your father be entirely opposed?"

"I don't know," Robin admits. "We haven't talked about it. I only decided for sure at the ball, though I've been thinking about it since summer, and–" His voice trails off as John opens up his chest of drawers and pulls out a crisp, starched white shirt and a collar, and he starts to unbutton the one he's wearing. "But there are a lot of things that would have to fall into place–my obligations to the tenants here, a reallocation of funds from Sherwood to the lodge and–"

"Does that mean I can come along."

Robin laughs. "Of course I'd bring you. I'm not sure I _need_ a valet, but I wouldn't leave you here."

"I wouldn't say that I couldn't enjoy working in a smaller house, taking on other responsibilities."

"So, you and Winston get on?"

"Keenly."

"Good, that's– that's good," Robin says as he slips his arms into the dress shirt. "And we'd take Belle for Regina, and Mal for the boys, and… and probably Ruby."

"For Belle?"

Robin looks at John through the mirror and watches as a sly little grin pulls onto his lips, and then he nods. "Yes, in part."

"They're sweet," John tells him. "I don't quite understand them, but they're sweet and–" He laughs out and takes his head as he turns back to the chest for Robin's tails and a tie. "I don't mind confessing it now, but the morning of the Harvest Ball, I might've spilled some silver polish onto the table linens and Ruby somehow managed to get it out."

"Did Mrs. Potter know?"

John nods and turns back. "Threatened me within an inch of my life."

"Over a little polish?"

"More like the whole bottle."

"Ah–"

"And Ruby had it cleaned in no time," he says, almost proudly. "So, if I took issue with her before then, I could never now. I owe her my life."

Robin slips into the jacket as John moves around to face him. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, but I'll ta–"

"It's no exaggeration," John says, looking up at him with serious eyes. "That Mrs. Potter may be small, but she's terrifying when she's angry. She's like one of those French bull dogs when you take it's food."

"Something you have personal experience with?" Robin arches, arching an eyebrow as he stifles a laugh as John's eyes roll. "Honestly, though, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Change is hard, but–"

"Worth it, most of the time."

"Yes."

John ties his tie and buttons his jacket, and momentarily, silence falls between them–but this time, instead of worrying, he finds himself thinking about what it might be like to take Regina and their boys, and the staff that works directly with them up to the lodge on a more permanent basis, to be surrounded by people who enjoyed their company. He imagined Mal teaching the boys to play piano in the drawing room there and Mrs. Beakley interrupting their lessons with warm cookies in need of "testing" and he imagined what it'd be like to teach them to ride horseback through the woods, losing themselves for a day, getting lost in the forest, and he imagined Regina accompanying him on trips into the tiny village and then actually being glad to return home in the evening. He imagined warm meals in the dining room where their children were able to eat with them, jokes about Regina's love of apples, and being allowed lazy mornings that didn't earn a disapproving gaze. They could be happy there, and he knew it–he just hoped that all of the pieces would fall into place to afford them the happiness the lodge would bring.

When he was done being dressed, John brushed him off and sent him on his way, and with a minute to spare, he found himself waiting at the end of the hall by the stairs, waiting for Regina–and once again, that feeling of dread consumed him.

But before he can linger on it, their bedroom door opens and Regina steps out in a sage green dress and white lace gloves, and a choker that matches both. Her hair is swept up and her cheeks are a bit flushed from rushing, and he can tell that she's nervous.

"Are you ready, m'lady?" He asks, offering her his arm.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replies, linking her arm through his. "Shall we?"

He nods and leads her down the stairs and before they even reach the bottom, he can hear voices from the drawing room. The men and women are all together, not separated as they usually are for pre-dinner conversation and drinks, and though he considers it odd for his father, it doesn't seem so odd for the younger and much more modern woman he's been courting.

The butler opens the door–and for a moment, he's distracted momentarily by someone other than Edgar being in the post. He shrugs and offers an awkward introduction in an effort to conceal his surprise to find anyone other than Lawrence in the post–and immediately, he's met with emotionless _Edgar, sir_ as the new butler supplies his name.

Regina giggles at the awkwardness as they step into the room, and then, she freezes.

"Ah," a hearty laugh rises from somewhere in the crowded room. "The entertainment for the gentleman's arrived." Robin's jaw tights as his eyes fall to Jefferson Hatfield standing with a group of men by the hearth, clearly drunk as he raises his glass in the direction of Zelena, his drink sloshing upward. "I'd no idea this was _that_ sort of party!"

Robin steps forward as the room falls quiet–and aside from a few uncomfortable laughs from the men he stands near, everyone just stares at him and Regina. Once again, his jaw tightens as he takes a step forward and his hands ball into fists as he fantasizes about what it'd be like to let his fist sail into Jefferson's jaw as he knocks him to the floor, but before he can respond, Regina's voice breaks the silence as she pulls away from him.

"I… I think I'm going to be sick."

He turns, but she's already gone–and then, when he looks back into the crowded room, his eyes fall to his father and Zelena. His father's eyes are wide, but his jaw is tipped up haughtily and Zelena looks completely pleased with herself.

"How could you?" He manages as his eyes meet his father's. "How could you be so cruel?"

"I–"

He doesn't wait for a response. Instead, he turns on his heels, stepping quickly from the drawing room and jogging up the stairs. He stops at their bedroom door and finds that it's not shut all the way, and through the crack, he can hear her a breath, he slowly pushes the door open, and when Regina comes into view, his heartbreaks.

She's on the floor, her dress pooled around her. Her gloves lay in the floor behind her and she's holding the wastebasket in front of herself. Her body shakes as she sobs and he can see tears dripping from her chin

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you up."

"No, I–" She flinches as he touches her. "I can't do this right now."

"Do what?"

She hesitates, hiccuping as she focuses on the wastebasket. "Talk to you, or… or even look at you."

"Regina–"

"You must be so angry."

"I am, but–"

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice hitching at the back of her throat. "I'm sorry, Robin."

"You think _you_ need to apologize?" Again, she hiccups and he can hear her struggling against the urge to vomit–and his chest tightens. "Regina–"

"Just leave me," she says, her voice barely audible. "Tomorrow, we can figure out how to handle this, I just–"

"No," he cuts in as he moves to the silk cord at their bedside, and gives it a quick tug. "I'm not going anywhere."

She nods. "Y-you're right. I… I should… um, I should be the one to go. I've no right to–"

"Stop."

He watches as her shoulders slump forward and she lurches, then a short whimper escapes her, followed by tears when nothing else comes forward–and it's only then that he realizes that she thinks his anger is directed at her.

He moves back toward her, kneeling down beside her, and before he even reaches for her, she flinches. This time, though, he ignores it, pressing his hand to her back and rubbing gently.

"Regina, I need you to look at me."

"I… I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"Fine, then. I don't want to."

"Why not?"

He feels her suck in a breath and he sees her eyes press closed. "Because–"

"Because, why?" He asks, rubbing circles against her back as her voice cracks and her words fail her. "Regina, why won't you look at me?"

She hesitates for a moment, hiccuping as another trail of tears spill down her cheeks. "Because, I… I can't bear to see the… the…" She stops and draws in a shaky breath. "I can't bear to see you look at me the way everyone else does."

"Regina–"

"Robin, I _can't_ do it," she says, her voice rising over his. "Not yet."

His hand presses more firmly–she's not thinking clearly, and she's lost in her head. "Regina, please."

"I can't–"

"Because of what happened with Jefferson?" She tenses at the mentioning of his name, and he draws in a long breath, slowly releasing it and saying what he should have said months before. "Because of what he said in the drawing room tonight or…" He pauses for a moment, hesitating as he wishes there was something he could do or say to sweep this back under the rug. This wasn't something they _needed_ to discuss and he hated the pain it brought to her. "Or because of what you did with him?"

At that, she looks back at him with wide eyes–and again, his chest tightens to find them red and teary. "What?"

"I know, Regina. I… I know about you and Jefferson."

He can see her heart beginning to beat faster as her jaw starts to tremble. "You… you knew?"

"Yes, I've… I've known for awhile."

"A-awhile?" she asks, her voice cracking. "How long is awhile?"

"Since before we married."

She blinks and looks away, and her eyes fall shut. "Oh my god… I… I am such a fool."

"No."

"Robin–" A soft knock comes at the door and Regina looks away, and instantly, he regrets ringing for a servant. "I don't want to see anyone."

The knock comes again and he sighs, rising up and moving to the door, quickly slipping out of the room and into the hall–and there, he finds Belle and Mal standing before him.

"You called," Belle says, her voice timid. "I–"

"They're talking downstairs," Mal cuts in, her jaw right and her eyes narrow. "They're talking about what that bastard said."

He nods. "I'm sure they are."

"If I had half a mind, I'd get him drunk and in a compromising position, then rip off his testicles–"

"Oh my," Belle murmurs, swallowing hard as her cheeks flush, clearly unsure of how to respond to any of what's happening around her. "Um…"

"Is she alright?" Mal asks, ignoring the maid's discomfort. "Please, tell me she isn't taking this to heart."

"She's… upset," he tells her, not wanting to discuss what he isn't sure is acceptable to discuss. "I, um… I was hoping you could bring her some tea," he says, looking to Belle. "And some caraway for her stomach and something to gargle with."

"Of course. Absolutely."

"Bring her something to eat, too," Mal adds. "She needs to eat something."

Robin smiles and nods as Belle's eyes shift to him. "She hasn't eaten since morning," Robin tells her. "She's probably not up to eating right now, but she'll be hungry soon."

"Buttermilk scones," Mal says. "She always liked those."

Robin grins and Belle nods. "I'll see if–"

"If there aren't any and the cook is too busy with dinner preparations or otherwise _refuses_ to meet the basic task of her job because of some ill-placed idea of importance, I'll make them." Her brow arches as she looks between Belle and Robin. "I don't care if I'm in the way or taking over her territory. Her opinion doesn't matter much to me."

Belle nods and hurries off toward the stairs, and Robin sucks in a breath, looking from the bedroom door to Mal, hoping to wrap up their conversation quickly, not wanting to leave Regina alone for too long.

"You deserve a raise."

"Hardly."

"We don't know each other very well," Robin begins. "But I'm glad you're here. You're good for her."

"She's like a little sister to me," Mal tells him. "And if anyone hurts her– _you included_ –they'll answer to me." She pauses. "I wasn't joking about Jefferson's testicles," she huffs. "We women-folk are prone to bouts of insanity when we reach a certain age and I've got more than enough money to escape to the depths of India and finish off my life in a nice little bungalow in the jungle." She grins. "And I've always wanted a pet leopard."

"Noted–both about Jefferson's, um… testicles… and my own."

"Good," she says, nodding as though they've come to an agreement. "Get back to her and let me know if there's anything–murderous or otherwise–that I can do."

"I will."

He waits for Mal to disappear and then turns to the door, slowly opening and it and pushing into the room. Regina's moved herself to the bed and she's sitting on her side, facing the door. Her face is red and tear stained, her shoulders slumped forward and her knuckles are white as she tightly grips the edge of the mattress. She's still crying and looks so small, and all he wants to do is take away her pain–and though he knows he can't actually do that, he hopes that she'll let him try.

"Oh love," he murmurs, crossing the room toward her and sitting down beside her. "Oh, love, I'm sorry," he says as his arm stretches around her shoulders–and he breathes out a small sigh of relief when she doesn't recoil.

For awhile, they just sit together and neither says much of anything.

Aside from the occasional, _you're alright_ and _just let it out_ he doesn't say much, understanding that this moment isn't meant to be about him or his needs. He can't begin to understand her feelings, but he can be empathetic, and he knows her well enough to know that pushing her to discuss about something she'd not yet ready to discuss.

So he waits for her to start, understanding he may wait forever.

Truthfully, he meant it when he said she could keep her secrets, and if in the morning, she wanted to pretend none of this had ever happened, he'd gladly pretend right along with her.

But he knows that won't be the case and he hopes that she won't wallow in her own self-loathing for too long.

Belle comes in with a glass of salted water for her to gargle and a spit bowl, as well as the caraway and tea–and on her heels, Mal follows with a plate of scones. He can still see the steam rising up from them, and he doesn't want to ask who made them.

In a barely audible voice, Regina thanks then excuses Belle, and Belle hover for only a moment before turning out of the room. Mal, however, lingers a bit longer. He can't help but notice the way she watches him rub absently at Regina's back–watching as through assessing whether or not her opinion of him needs to be reevaluated–and when she finally looks to Regina, everything about her demeanor softens.

"He's not here anymore," Mal says plainly. "He was asked to leave."

"Who asked?"

"I'm not sure," she admits as her eyes shift back to Robin. "But apparently, not everyone appreciated his little outburst." She grins. "So, at least for tonight, I won't be booking my passage to India."

"What?"

Robin chuckles softly as Regina looks up at Mal, who smiles warmly as their eyes meet. "Nothing for you to worry about," she assures her before looking back to Robin. "Take care of her."

"Otherwise, you will be booking that passage and I'll be in a considerable amount of pain," he says, nodding. "Got it."

Regina blinks as she looks between them and Mal chuckles softly as she leans in and whispers something into her ear, and when she pulls back, she offers her a quick wink before excusing herself to go get the boys ready for bed.

"You must think I'm such a damn fool," Regina says, looking down at her lap as the door closes. "I–"

"I don't think that."

She scoffs, obviously not believing him. "When did you find out?"

"About–" Her eyes widen incredulously and he stops, nodding his understanding. "Um, not long after it happened, actually."

"So, when you proposed, you… you know that… that I'd slept with him?" Robin nods. "And did you know why?"

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he just stares at her. "He… mentioned that when he said the rest."

"Oh, god–"

"Regina–"

"So, this whole time, you knew."

He nods "I… didn't realize this was the thing you'd been keeping."

"And if you know about Jefferson, you… you know about…" Her voice halts. She's not listening and he wonders if they can make it through this conversation without him having to reveal what he thought she was keeping and if that particular wound can stay shut. "I'm sorry."

"If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to," he tells her. "I meant it when I said your secrets were yours for the keeping."

"Well, it's out now."

"But you don't have to share the details. They don't matter."

She nods, batting her hands over her eyes as she sniffles. "I might as well say it before Zelena hosts another dinner party and… invites someone else."

He hesitates for a moment. "Does that mean that… that there were others? I mean, I thought there might be, but–"

"Not… to the same extent, but yes. There were others." She sucks in a breath and her eyes press closed. "Damn it," she hisses as tears seep from the corner of her eyes. "I can only imagine what you're thinking after I… I refused to…" Her voice cracks then halts. "With _you_ of all people."

Clearing his throat, he shifts. "I can only assume you're referring to the fact that you and I aren't sleeping together, and–" He sighs as he considers it. It hadn't ever occurred to him that because she'd slept with other men that should mean she should sleep with him. "I'd like to think you've more agency now, that you're not as desperate as you were then, and… that you feel you've options and are able to refuse."

Regina looks back at him, blinking away her tears. "Able…"

"We've sort of danced around it all evening–and please, don't take this as some sort of judgement or even something you have to answer–but I've been operating under the assumption that this was all a… a business transaction of sorts."

For a moment, she just stares at him, the scoffs. "That's a very nice way of saying that I was a prostitute."

"Regina–"

"Robin, that's what it was."

"I know," he murmurs "I just–"

"Just assumed."

He blinks and sighs. "It's the story that Jefferson told. It could've been embellished. There were certainly parts of it that seemed–"

Regina's eyes widen and his voice trails off. "What did he say?"

"Just that," he murmurs. "Just that he paid… for…" Regina looks away and he feels his stomach tighten. "We don't have to talk about this."

For a moment, she doesn't reply and he thinks that, maybe, it's really over and then, she looks back. "I didn't sleep with the others. It was… a business transaction, as you put it, but I didn't sleep with them."

"So, you–"

"Let them… touch me and I…" Her cheeks flush and she looks away. "Did whatever they asked me to do to them." She shrugs. "Then they paid for the service and were on their way, and I went upstairs to my son."

"Right–"

"Mother of the year," she scoffs. "I left my baby sleeping upstairs so I could go and… pleasure drunk men."

"Regina–"

"It's true."

"I don't think it's as black and white as that."

"I did try to find other work, it's just… it was hard," she tells him, looking back as she blinks back her tears. "I couldn't bring Henry to a maid's job or even to a laundry, but I also couldn't leave him alone during the day, and… it's not like I could pay someone to watch him." She paused, taking a breath and batting the backs of her hands over her eyes. "And even if I could find someone to watch him daily, he wouldn't let me leave. I had to wait til he was asleep."

"Wouldn't let you?"

She nods. "He was young and he didn't really understand what happened to Daniel. He just remembered that one night his father tucked him into bed and then the next night, he was gone."

"And Henry thought you'd permanently leave him, too."

She nods. "Even just working as a barmaid in the tavern was hard."

"I'm sure–"

"He'd wake up hysterical and he'd cling to me and–"

"How could you leave him like that?" Robin supplies as her voice fades. "I can't imagine."

"And I was always so tired. I wasn't sleeping and–" Her tears start up again, and this time, it's he who wipes them away, smiling warmly as he does, trying to conceal his own heart breaking as she recounts her story. "One day, I was dressing Henry and… his pants were too big." Her eyes fill with tears at the memory. "He was getting _smaller_ when he should've been growing bigger and–"

"You did what you had to do to support him."

She nods. "The other girls who worked in the tavern used to do it, too–so, one night, I agreed to go into the a little back room with this old, drunk man and he laid back in a chair and… and the next morning, I bought a loaf of bread and a couple of eggs, and made my son breakfast… and… for the first time in _months_ when he asked for more, I didn't have to say no."

"So you did it again."

She nods. "And again and again until Jefferson."

"And, after Jefferson?"

Shrugging, Regina focuses down on her lap. "Jefferson didn't actually… happen," she admits. "Not fully. It was all set up, but Henry woke up as I was going downstairs to meet him. One of the girls thought I'd misunderstood the plan and sent him up."

"Henry was there?"

She nods. "He was asleep again, so I let Jefferson in. I recognized him and I could tell that he recognized me, but neither of us said anything. Then, in the middle of it, I heard Henry waking up and–"

"Oh, no…"

"I wanted to stop. He didn't and–"

Robin's eyes narrow, and he feels a lopsided little grin tug at one corner of his mouth. "You broke his nose."

Regina's jaw drop open. "He told you–"

"He told me that he'd gotten into a bar fight." He pauses as her brows just upward in surprise. "Just so you know, in his version of it, you were a big burly man who walked away in much worse shape than he."

At that, she scoffs. "Aside from some truly bad sex, I was fine."

"He didn't hurt you?"

"No," she says, shaking her head as a little grin edges onto her lips. "I was the stronger of the two of us, and his nose broke with just one swing." She pauses and her eyes narrow. "It's worth noting that he was _very_ drunk."

He feels a little bit of pride rise into his smile. "He got what we deserved."

"And then, apparently, he told the world, and _I_ got what _I_ deserved."

"No," Robin says as he reaches for her hand. "You didn't deserve the way some have treated you."

"That's debatable."

"It's really not."

"Everyone has secrets. Everyone's done things they're not proud of."

"Maybe," Regina murmurs. "But the thing is, had my father not showed up when he did, I'd have tried it again. So when you consider–"

"No," he cuts in. "Don't kick yourself when you're down."

"But I would–"

"No."

She musters a sad little smile, then nods and focuses down on her lap. "The only part of it I regret is the impact it's had on Henry… and you."

He remembers a story she told him months before, a story about how when she'd returned to Dragon Head her father invited over a few friends with grandsons about Henry's age, hoping to arrange a playdate. But no one had come. The inevitable gossip wasn't worth an afternoon of fun–and the story had repeated whenever she took him to the park. Whenever Henry joined in play, the other children all went away, and it hadn't taken long for Henry to stop trying. He even noticed it after their marriage, how the boys who Roland frequently had playdates with suddenly stopped responding to invitations. A reason was never offered, but it the reason was understood. But Roland had Henry. The two became fast friends, and all else was forgotten…

"Me?"

"I know that people whisper about me behind my back, the things they gossip about and the stories they embellish and–"

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"You bear the brunt of it."

"I don't care if–"

"It's embarrassing, Robin. Even if you won't admit that."

For a moment, he doesn't reply. He's not entirely sure how to respond, or at least, what he could say that she'd actually believe–so, instead, he reaches out, and tips her chin toward him. "Regina, I'm proud of you. I'm proud of us, and marrying you was the single best decision I've ever made."

"You can't be ser–"

"And quite frankly," he says, his voice rising over hers. "I should count my lucky stars that _you_ agreed to marry _me_."

" _You're_ lucky that _I_ accepted you?"

"More that you were forced to accept, but those are just details." At that, her eyes roll and he chuckles softly before turning serious again. "Because from where I'm sitting, all I can see is that I'm not good enough for you."

She blinks. "What?"

"Everything you did, you did to survive and so that you child could survive."

"And what about what I did with Daniel? Intentionally or not, I've created a pattern of behavior that–"

"I don't think you did anything wrong with Daniel. You fell in love, you married, you had a baby."

"Except not in that order."

He shrugs. "Semantics."

"You're impossible," she says, her eyes rolling. "And I still don't see how–"

"I cheated on Marian."

Regina lets out a shaky breath as her eyes widen and he watches as she processes his words.

"I should add that it's not a mistake I'd ever make twice, and that I was in a very bad place at the time, but when it comes down to it, I did it out of self-pity and to make myself feel better. So, if we're going to compare sins, I think I win."

"I…"

"We all have secrets, Regina. We've all done things that we're not proud of."

"But–"

He takes a breath and grits his teeth, hoping he doesn't regret his choice to tell her. "Does that make you feel differently about me?" Blinking, she looks to him, her brow furrowed and million questions sitting on her lips. He stands, rising up from the edge of the bed and moving to the night stand. He can feel her watching him as he pours a cup of tea. He settles it at the center of a plate and chooses the biggest and fluffiest scone, then sets it next to the tea. "I'm sure you have questions."

"I… I do," she says, nodding as she looks up at him. "I don't know where to start."

He grins and hands her the plate. "If you have eat this and put something in your stomach, I'll tell you about it."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll probably still tell you since I've put it out there now," he admits. "But you haven't had anything since morning and you've puked all that up, so–" Regina grimaces and he chuckles softly as he sits back down beside her. "Besides, this is a long story and you're nicer when you've got a full stomach."

Her brow arches. "Am I?"

He nods. "Everyone is."

"Oh…"

"So, you'll eat?"

She nods as her finger trails along the edge of the scone. "You really cheated on her?"

"Once."

"Oh."

"So, too many times," he sighs. "I'm waiting for you to actually take a bite."

"You should've chosen a more appetizing story," she murmurs, focusing down on the plate. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you should know," he murmurs. "And because I get the impression that you have me on something of a pedestal and–"

"You want to knock yourself off of it?"

"More like level the playing field."

"And prove you're just as terrible as me? Because if that's your goal–"

"I don't think you're terrible, not at all." She looks back at him and it's then that he realizes she doesn't see the two things as similar–she still see her sins as worse than his. "I asked you if knowing something like that changes your opinion of me," he says. "Does it?"

She draws in a breath. "I'm sure you had your reasons."

"Not a good one, but yes. I had my reasons."

"So, go on then," she says, looking up at him. "Explain."

"Eat first."

"Robin–"

"Regina, you need to eat something."

"I feel like you're stalling."

"Maybe," he admits. "But now that I've put it out there, there's no taking it back."

"No, there isn't." She sighs and looks back at him, then lifts the scone and takes a little bite. "For the record," she murmurs. "While I am surprised, it doesn't change anything. You've been good to me and so, _so_ good to my son, and because of that you could've murdered entire villages and I'd have you up on a pedestal."

"And you can't accept that maybe–just maybe–that's how I feel about you?"

"You're the one who did the rescuing. I'd have never seeked you out or–"

"So, because I _bought_ your hand in marriage, that makes me the better of the two of us?"

"I don't think you fully realize how few options I had available to me, to my son… and…"

"And I don't think you have any idea just how much I love you." She blinks, and she looks taken aback by his declaration. "You saved me just as I've saved you. There have been a few incarnations of myself before this current version, and I haven't liked very many of them. And then you came along and finally, I was someone my son could be proud of, someone he could look up to and aspire to be like."

"You give me far too much credit."

"Which is all deserved." Her lips part as if she's about to protest, but he shakes his head and clears his throat, preparing himself to recount one of the darkest chapters of his life. "So, tell me. What do you want to know about Robin Locksley before Regina Mills came into his life?"

She blinks, considering it, as she takes a sip her tea–and he hopes whatever comes next isn't as painful as he expects.


	25. Chapter 25

Regina sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at her plate. She rubs her fingers along the edge, trying to collect her thoughts–trying to form a question or even a reply to what Robin had told her–but she's still reeling, and for the life of her, she can't seem to process any of it–most of all she couldn't process _why_.

Robin had picked one hell of a time to confess his own secret–and while it wasn't anything worse than what she'd done, she was having trouble swallowing it.

She'd meant it when she said it didn't change the way she felt about him. He'd been nothing but kind to her in the months that they'd been married–and she hadn't even realized the depths of that kindness. He'd been patient with her and never made assumptions, he treated her son as his own and he went out of his way to make her laugh and smile when all she wanted to do was hide away from the world. And when he spoke of Marian, something flickered in his eyes that made it obvious to anyone how much he'd loved her.

He was a good husband and a good father–and most importantly, he was a good man.

And that's why it was so difficult for her to understand.

Of course, she knew better than most that there were different rules for men and women.

Tons of men cheated on their wives–it was practically expected between some.

She easily recalled the men who came into the tavern–men wearing wedding rings and men whose wives she'd seen around town, usually with a gaggle of children surrounding her–and no one batted an eye when they slapped the bottom of a barmaid or handed one a couple of coins accompanied by a nod toward the stairs. There'd always been a deeper degree of shame when it came to those men, and she liked that the rooms were dark, hiding their rings and faces, and allowing her to pretend that what she was doing wasn't as wrong as it was.

But Robin wasn't _tons of men_ and he certainly wasn't one of _those_ men. It seemed so uncharacteristic for him to do something like that–to cheat on his beloved wife–and though she was sure that he had his reasons, for her to even question it seemed unfair when he'd been so accepting of her indiscretions.

"We don't have to talk about it now," he murmurs softly. "And maybe now wasn't the time to tell you, but–"

"Why?"

"I just wanted you to see that you're not the only one who's done regrettable things." He pauses for a moment and she knows he's waiting for a reply, but she can't seem to muster anything more than _why_. "While you may feel like what you did is–"

"No," she cuts in, shaking her head at the misunderstanding. "I don't mean _why_ did you tell me, I mean–" She stops and looks to him. "Why did you do it? It… just… doesn't seem like you. She was… your wife. You loved her. I _know_ that you loved her."

"She was pregnant," he adds, scoffing as he shakes his head. "She was sick, too. Did I mention that? That all makes it worse, I think."

She swallows hard and shakes her head as her eyes fall to the plate on her lap. "No, I didn't know," she replies, her voice meek as she chides herself for thinking of how terrible that is–how terrible that would be. "You… mentioned that she was sick, another time, but…"

"It was almost Christmas," he begins as her voice trails off. "She was… in her last month of pregnancy, and we knew that the end was near for her. Her doctor said as much and were mostly focused on keeping her comfortable until the birth, hoping that the baby made it through." At that, she looks up, and he offers her a sad little half smile as their eyes meet–and she feels a flicker of empathy. Living through that must have been hard–just sitting by and watching someone die, hoping that only one life was lost instead of two. "I was useless, mostly," he admits. "But I liked sitting with her, talking to her and pretending that… that what was happening wasn't really happening, that somehow Marian would defy the odds…"

"I… can't imagine," she murmurs in reply. "That must've been difficult for both of you."

He nods. "It was, most of the time. I wasn't very good at the forgetting part. She was, but… not me." He pauses for a moment, drawing in a breath and slowly releasing it. She can imagine that this is a difficult topic for several different reasons, and she can see that he's trying to choose his words carefully–or perhaps being selective of the details he wants to share. "Not a lot of people know this," he says after a moment. "But when Marian and I married it… it wasn't exactly as it seemed."

"What you do mean?"

"She and I, we… we loved each other, but I'm not sure that we were _in_ love, not when we married, at least. That came a bit later on, after the marriage."

"I thought you'd told me you married her for love," she murmurs, sounding stunned. "On our wedding night, you told me you'd met and fell in love with her, married and had a baby." A little smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "I remember because… I found it so endearing."

"That's all true, it's just… the order of things is a bit jumbled."

She nods, managing a weak smile as she recalls him jumbling the order of how she and Daniel had done things.

"It just… happened a bit too fast to have fallen in love first. We got there, though… eventually." He smiles wistfully, clearly remembering something sweet, and then it fades away. "Time never was on our side, though."

She nods, understanding, but not quite knowing what to say.

A silence falls between them as her head spins with newfound and uncomfortable information, and before she can formulate a question or a response or something that's of comfort, Robin draws in an audibly shaky breath and shrugs. "She, uh… she was my best friend and she was sick. I realized that only a couple of days after we met, but it took me awhile to realize just how sick she was."

"When you and your drunk friends tried to steal her father's horses, right?" she asks, remembering a hazy story. "That's when you met her?"

She notices a smile trying to tug up from the corner of his mouth–but it doesn't quite make it and still he doesn't look back at her. "I went over to apologize the next day and she wasn't well. I came back the day after that, and again, she wasn't well. Then, on the third day, I decided not to knock on the front door because I was fairly certain that I'd be turned away once more."

"You broke in, didn't you?"

A soft, faint chuckle escapes him as he nods. "I did, and I found her room and… she told me off, yet again." He pauses, finally looking back at her. "The next day, I brought her soup and was allowed entrance, and by the end of the week, she'd invited me for tea and a few games of cards and… that was that."

"It sounds as though you were smitten with one another."

"I liked her quite a bit, I won't deny that," he admits. "She was… such a spit-fire, and it was easy to pretend that she was well. But every now and then, she couldn't pretend."

Biting down on her lip, she looks away from him. There are so many questions she wants to ask–most of them about Marian and what illness she suffered–but she doesn't want to distract him from the story that he wants to tell or have it veer in a direction that's uncomfortable or lead him to memories he's not willing to share. So, she says nothing; instead, she nods along and waits for him to continue.

"Marian was the youngest daughter in her family–the youngest of six girls–and her sisters were all quite a bit older, with families of their own, and her parents were aging–"

"You married her to take care of her," she murmurs, the realization settling upon her as she looks back to him, feeling a tingle of empathy as she considered a common theme in both of his marriages. "That's… sweet."

"I did," he nods. "And I was quite happy with my choice. It wasn't a loveless marriage, by any means." A little grin tugs up on his lips. "She was funny," he tells her. "She had a sense of humor that I loved. She told these incredible stories that she'd make up out of thin air and–" A chuckle bubbles out of him. "That's typically how we spent our time at parties–laughing and making up stories about the guests and… and she was just so easy to be with. Easy going and just… present in whatever moment we were in." His grin brightens and she can nearly see the memories flickering behind his eyes. "Nothing was a big deal to her," he says. "She could be happy anywhere, with anyone and–"

"It sounds like Roland's got a bit of her in him."

Robin nods. "He reminds me a lot of her."

"That's a good thing," she tells him, thinking of her own son with his father's hazel eyes and soft demeanor. "Even if it hurts sometimes."

"On most days, it is," he agrees, drawing in a breath. "She loved being outdoors–and her doctor thought that was good for her."

"Fresh air–"

"Mm," he saying, nodding. "So, when she was up to it, we'd go riding and get lost in the woods, and when she got tired, we'd sit by the water or in the shade somewhere and talk, then when she was ready we'd move on or come back home." He grins. "We spent a lot of time sipping tea by the fire and reading books together and–"

"It sounds like you _were_ in love with her."

"Like I said, she was my best friend… and I was well on my way to being in love."

"So, what… um… what happened?"

"She got pregnant."

"Ah–"

"We shouldn't have–"

"Robin, she was your wife, and regardless of what you say, you–"

"Knew she couldn't handle a pregnancy," he cuts in. "Her doctor told us as much when we married. He warned us. We knew that her body was too weak for it."

"Ah–"

"But I could never say no to Marian," he admits, a soft, sad little laugh bubbling out of him. "For the longest time, we'd done nothing more than trade a few kisses here and there, and then one night, she… wanted to."

"And so you did."

He nods. "It only happened a handful of times, and looking back, I think she knew that she was getting worse. She didn't tell me that, but I think she was."

"Before… I mean, before you two were…"

"Before we were ever intimate," he tells her, looking back at her and nodding softly. "When we learned that she was pregnant, she was _so_ happy, too," he says. "She was resigned to what it meant for her. I wasn't, but she was. And, she'd say things, like that her pregnancy happened at just the right time, and that she was glad that when she was gone, a little piece of her would remain, like she could live on through her child."

Regina lets out a shaky breath as Robin's eyes press closed momentarily.

"She said our child was her gift to me, a thank you for loving her and taking care of her and–"

"She loved you. She didn't want you to be alone."

"No, she didn't want that," he sighs, his eyes pressing closed again as he grimaces. "She made that perfectly clear."

"I'm sorry, Robin," she murmurs, setting the plate aside and gently pressing her hand to his arm as she considers how different losing their significant others was–the same loss, just under such different circumstances. For her, it was so sudden and so unexpected–and for the longest time, she hated that she never got the chance to say goodbye. But as she listens to Robin now, talking about what it was like to watch Marian wither away, she can't help but feel that she was lucky. "That must've been terrible to live through."

"It was," he agrees–and she finds herself wondering if this is what he bargained for when he admitted his own indigressions to her. "So," he says, beginning again, "to answer your question–"

"Robin, you don't have to–"

"I want to."

"Alright," she murmurs, swallowing hard and feeling a pang of guilt over asking in the first place. "If you want to."

"I didn't handle Marian's pregnancy well. She might've thought it a fair trade, but I certainly didn't, and the more she reminded me that I knew what I'd signed up for when I married her, the more bitter I got about it."

"That's understandable."

"Perhaps," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Early on, she was put on bedrest and the farther along she got, the worse she got–and the more she insisted that her child shouldn't grow up with a mother, that I shouldn't be alone–"

Regina feels her breath catch, her eyes widening a little.

"She kept trying to set me up."

"Oh," she breathes out. "That must've been…"

"Terrible," he fills in as her voice fades. "It was absolutely terrible."

"I'm sure."

"The, um… the Blanchards have this party every year."

"Their annual masquerade ball," she adds, nodding. "My parents go every year. I went once or twice, before… well, before I fell into scandal."

"We were invited that year–me and Marian, my father–and I politely declined since Marian was in her last month of pregnancy and so sick."

"That's understable. Who could blame you for wanting to spend every last moment with her?"

"That's how I felt," he tells her, nodding. "But Marian felt differently about it."

"Oh–"

"She decided to fix me up with… a cousin or the cousin of a cousin, I don't remember, but I remember agreeing to it because…" He sighs as his voice trails off. "Because I'd have done anything for her, especially then."

For a moment, he doesn't add anything else, and she feels guilt stabbing at her core–guilt for having made an assumption about his character, especially when he'd never once made any assumptions over hers.

"So, um… you and the cousin… you two…"

"No," he tells her, shaking his head. "I escorted her to the masquerade, then as soon as dinner was through, I ditched her for a bottle of very expensive bourbon I'd snagged from Leo Blanchard's library and made my way upstairs to one of the rooms set up for guests who were staying over."

She swallows, as a memory of a similar-sounding story flickers and she remembers the drunken evening she and Robin spent at the Blanchards with a couple of stolen bottles of wine. "That seems to be your signature party move," she says dryly, remembering how easy it was for them to slip away.

His eyes narrow a bit and it's clear that he's not following, instead lost in another memory; and before she can explain, he continues. "I was fairly drunk when one of the maids came in to start the fire and warm up the room for an overnight guest."

"So, that's who–"

He nods. "She was startled, at first, to find me there and I offered her a swig of Leo Blanchard's bourbon, and we got to talking."

She nods, remembering that similar memory of the two of them hiding from the other partygoers, getting drunk and laughing together. He'd been so kind and so easy to talk to, and she'd forgotten how good it could feel to open up and share–and even more, she'd forgotten how good it could feel not to be met with judgement and scorn. That night, Robin had been such a gentleman. He'd held her hand and pulled out her chair, and when no one else would talk to her, he kept a lively conversation going so that she didn't feel so out of place and alone. By that point, she knew that she could trust him–at least to some degree–and she knew that they could be friends. She'd let her guard down and he hadn't taken advantage, despite her drunkenness–and now, looking back with the newfound information that the secret she thought she held hadn't been a secret at all, she realized how much of a gentleman he'd actually been.

"She had a boyfriend," Robin says, bringing her back into the present moment. "They'd broken up when he'd gone off to Canada in pursuit of some money-making scheme, and if it panned out, he'd send for her and they'd be reunited again, but…"

"She didn't know."

"No, and she was about as lost as I was."

"Another broken heart."

"Mm, I suppose," he murmurs. "We finished off the bottle and somewhere along the way, things got hazy."

"As they do when one _finishes_ a bottle of potent bourbon."

"It was rather large," he admits. "And full to the brim."

Swallowing, she nods. "So, there you have it."

"I remember kissing her and I remember taking her to bed, and even though those memories are fuzzier than the rest, I do remember it." He pauses to draw in a breath, then slowly releases it as his eyes sink closed. "And then the next thing I knew, a scullery maid was coming in and gasping in horror at what she found."

"I can imagine."

Looking back at her, he nods, and this time, it's she who looks away. "And then… I had to figure out how I was supposed to go home and face Marian."

Another silence falls between them, and she considers what it'd be like to be in that position. Regardless of the terms of their marriage or why they'd married, Robin loved her–in one way or another–and such information about his indisgression would surely sting. Biting down on her lip, she looks back at Robin and considers herself in either position–and then she considers what it'd be like to have to look Daniel in the eye and tell him what she did with their son just down the hallway…

"Did… did she know?"

He sighs. "The cousin told her."

"Oh–" she breathes out. Somehow, she hadn't quite expected that.

"I didn't exactly work out what I was going to tell her about that night, but by the time I got home, it didn't matter what I planned to say or planned not to say because Marian already knew." Swallowing hard, he looks at her, and she can see pained tears glistening in his eyes, the thinly patched wound exposed and vulnerable. "And, obviously, she was hurt."

"I… I can imagine that she was. That's not an easy thing to hear."

"And then she was gone." Regina's brow furrows at the abrupt shift, and her lips part to ask; but before she can do so, Robin continues. "She went into labor that day. She wouldn't let me stay in the room. She didn't want to see me, much less talk to me, and–"

"To be fair, childbirth isn't exactly… something you want an audience for."

"She died not long after," he tells her. "Roland was born on Christmas Eve and Marian was gone by the new year."

"Oh," Regina murmurs quietly, her voice barely a whisper. "So soon."

"The night he was born, she caught a fever. It broke the next day, only to return a few days later." He pauses momentarily to collect himself and as he shakes his head, she can see tears glistening in his eyes. "And then, the last one took her. Her heart gave out."

"Oh, Robin–"

"I was at a dinner when it happened," he says, "I wanted to stay with her–the fever made her delirious, so I was allowed in, but–" He stops and his eyes press closed. "She died alone and of a broken heart. I'm convinced of it," he tells her.

"She was sick, Robin. You know that she–"

"So, when you consider your sins against mine," he cuts in, clearing his throat and blinking away his tears as he looks back at her. "You come out on top."

Regina feels her eyes widen, and for a moment, he hold her gaze. "I… I don't know about that."

"What happened after Marian is… hazy, at best, but the maid lost her position and I begged my father to buy her passage to Canada–and when I explained why, he wanted to avoid the scandal and did it."

"So, she–"

"Left a few days later and reunited with her love," he says as a tight smile pulls across his lips. "At least the story has one happy ending."

At that, she scoffs and a hint of a smirk tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "After Marian died and after what happened with the maid, I decided that it'd be best for me and for my son, if I just… faded into the background."

She nods, remembering that–remembering her mother making a joke of it at dinner, not long after she returned to Dragon Head. She'd called him a shut-in and other less kind things, poking fun at the Locksley heir and wondering if it meant that perhaps she might reclaim her fortune. Of course, that was before she knew how what remained had dwindled, before she knew she needed Robin's empathetic heart to save her and the life she'd become accustomed to living.

It hadn't sat well with her, but she'd said nothing; after all, it was in her best interest to keep her eyes down and her mouth closed, and to nod along with whatever her mother said–and now, she hated that she'd done that–that she'd let her mother say such cruel things about a good man who was clearly suffering.

"Robin that's… that's terrible."

"It wasn't a good time, I'll admit that," he says. "But I had a roof over my head and food to eat, and my son was well-cared for by a nurse."

"And by you."

"And me," he agrees. "I don't think I'd have had the will to survive had I actually had to try."

She blinks, suddenly realizing that the conversation has switched from his situation to her own, and her eyes cast down–but before she can turn away from him, he reaches out, touching his fingers to her chin and turning her head so that she's facing him.

It takes her a moment to gather the courage to look up at him, and when she does, she finds him gaze soft and warm, and he's looking at her in a way that almost makes her believe that everything will be alright.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

She nods–she does.

"And I don't have to tell you that what you're feeling right now will soon dull. It won't last. It's–"

"Robin, it's so embarrassing," she cuts in. "The gossip _just_ started to die down, and now–"

"And now, if anyone has anything to say about it, I'd be more than happy to have a conversation."

"Some would say I got what I deserved for–"

"They're wrong," he cuts in, his voice full of confidence as if there could be no other option. "Regina, you–"

This time, it's Robin who gets cut off, and this time it's by a soft knock at the door. Reluctantly, Robin gets up from the bed and goes the door, opening just a crack and then allowing the door to open the rest of the way when he finds Mal standing on the other side of it.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she says, looking between them, eventually settling on Regina. "But there are two little boys who are waiting to be tucked in, and no matter what I say, they won't go to sleep without a story and a kiss from their mama."

Regina lets out a breath, her stomach fluttering as she pushes her fingers up over her cheeks, riding them of the tear tracks that stained them. It occurs to her that she's not quite in the right frame of mind to see them, but before she can even think to say the words, she's standing and moving toward the door.

Robin takes her hand as she reaches him and Mal smiles softly, not saying anything as she leads the way.

As soon as they step into the nursery, Regina's demeanor changes.

Robin stands in the doorway as Regina climbs into bed with Henry, hugging him into her side and pressing a few quick kisses to his hair, making him giggle and squirm. Roland watches, almost longingly with wide eyes as he fidgets with his fingers in the bed next to Henry's–and when Regina turns to him, smilingly brightly as she asks him what he's doing all by himself in the other bed, Roland practically leaps to Henry's bed. He crawls into her lap and cuddles up against her. Her arm folds around him as she hugs him–squeezes him, actually–closer and kisses the top of his head as she smooths his messy curls away from his forehead.

"Did you have fun at the party?" Henry asks, looking up at her innocently with wide and wondering eyes–and for a moment, Robin holds his breath.

"I did," she says, lying easily and making him wonder how many times in the past she's lied to Henry about her circumstances, not letting him know just how unhappy she was to protect his perception of a happy life with her. "But you know what's even more fun?" Henry shakes his head as Roland's brow creases, a little _what is?_ escaping him as Regina laughs. "Being here with you two."

She spends a while talking to them–asking them questions about their evening. She asks about what they had to eat and if they had their baths, asking if they washed behind their ears and between their toes–and Roland replies guiltily that he forgot to do his ears. Regina laughs at that but makes him promise to spend extra time on them the following night, and Roland very solemnly agrees to do so.

Regina spends nearly a half an hour just talking to them before finally reaching for the book on the nightstand, opening up to where they left off a few nights before and continuing the story–and all the while, he just stands there, watching and falling in love with her just a little bit more.

"Do you have a minute?"

He turns to see Mal standing in the doorway, and he nods, taking one last glimpse of Regina and the boys before following her into the hall. She looks around, then leads him into the bedroom next to the nursery–one that they could have gotten to had they just cut across the nursery.

"How is she?" she asks as soon as their door closes. "Has she calmed down?"

"A little, I think," he admits. "The boys help. I'm glad they wanted to see her."

"They're sweethearts," Mal says, smiling softly as she looks to the open nursery door at the back of her room. "And they _adore_ her."

"As they should," he says, following her gaze to the open door and smiling at the sight of a patch of green skirt that hangs down from Henry's bed. "I'm so relieved at the way Roland's taken to her, that he has–"

"A mother."

"Yes," he says, looking back to her. "I think my late wife would have liked her–I think Marian would have approved of Regina helping me to raise our son."

Mal offers a soft smile and a half nod. "I'm sure that she would," she tells him, her voice curt and pointed. "Regina's always been a likable person–when she's given a chance."

"I rather like her," he says, a soft chuckle bubbling up from him. "Though, I wish more people could see what I do–what you do and not–"

"They're talking," Mal says, cutting in. "They're all talking downstairs. When I went to request the boys' breakfasts, I could hear them chattering like it's some sort of serialized drama that they can't wait to read the next installment of."

"I'm sure," he says, heat rising up the back of his neck as his jaw clenches.

"They won't do it in front of me–they've realized where my loyalties lie–but I thought you should know."

He sighs, wishing there was something he could do and wishing he had more power than he did. Once more the thought of relocating himself, Regina and the boys north to the Hunting Lodge seems all the more worthwhile–and once more he has to remind himself it's not as easy as packing them up and going.

"Thank you."

Mal offers a grunt as a reply.

"That's… good to know. Maybe I can find a way to distract her from it tomorrow or–"

"It'll need to be longer than just tomorrow," Mal tells him, her brow arching skeptically. "The first time it happened–the first time this story got out–it was away from here. It was a story from an often drunkard with a limited social reach–and her mother protected her from the brunt of it."

"Cora–"

"People are afraid her."

"That's easy enough to believe."

"And if Cora Mills said it wasn't so, then people were inclined to believe that–or at least pretend to."

"But tonight gave the rumor validity."

"Of course," he murmurs, his eyes sinking shut. "I assume that was the plan."

"The plan–"

"I'm not naive enough to believe what happened happened by chance–though I do think Jefferson went above and beyond what Zelena expected of him."

"He owed it to her, I'm sure."

Robin sighs, pressing his hand to his brow as his eyes press–and the memory of Regina's crumpling face flashes behind his eyes. "Damn it–"

"The upside is that she has support this time," Mal begins in a tentative voice, waiting for his eyes to open and for him to catch her gaze.

"Of course she does."

"Because if you–"

"I won't hurt her," he cuts in. "Not if I can help it."

"Good–"

"Since we last talked, I attempted to distract her from it."

Mal's brow arches. "How?"

"By, um… by letting her in on a little dirty secret of my own," he admits. "I just hope it didn't upset her too–"

"Why would it upset her?"

Robin blinks, and for a moment, he hesitates. "I, uh… cheated on my first wife once–"

"Why the hell would you tell her something like that?" Mal hisses, her voice harsh and full of accusation. "You don't think she has enough to worry about? You add–"

"I didn't tell her to upset her," he cuts in, his tone matching hers. "I did it to knock myself down off of the pedestal she keeps me on and–"

"She _does_ have you on a pedestal," Mal sighs. "She thinks the world of you." In spite of himself, he feels a little grin tugging up onto his lips at the thought that Regina's said something to her to evoke such a statement. "Just… be careful with her, hm?" Mal asks, suddenly softening. "She's more fragile than she seems."

"I kn–"

"You don't," Mal says, cutting him off again as she looks pointedly at him. "You know what she lets you know. I've known her for as long as I can remember. I was at home visiting when she and Daniel ran away together, and a year or so after Henry was born, I went to visit them." Drawing in a breath, she looks away. "She wasn't in a good place. She was… tired all of the time and sad living in that tawdry little tavern my unscrupulous cousins owned. It was loud, so she wasn't getting enough sleep, and she wasn't eating as she should've been, anything she had she was giving to Henry. I saw them again, just before Daniel died and it was… like I was talking to someone I didn't know. Her spirit was broken. She was… a shell of the girl I knew before."

Robin shifts on his feet, remembering how Regina was when she first came to Sherwood–meek and quiet, always afraid. She kept her eyes down and did her best to avoid everyone, only paying attention to Henry and then eventually Roland. They'd married in the winter, just after the new year, and it'd taken til spring for her to warm up to him enough to even take a walk with him. Slowly, though, she'd come 'round and they'd started to become friends–and there'd been the first signs that maybe one day, they could be more.

"That life wasn't meant for her," Mal says quietly.

"She wanted–"

"She wanted a life with Daniel, raising their son and whatever children followed him." She smiles a bit wistfully. "The plan was that they'd run away on her eighteenth birthday, provided her mother didn't marry her off before then.. Daniel was saving though, and he'd probably have done something foolish, like interrupt her wedding or–"

Robin laughs at that, picturing his mother-in-law's indignation at a stable boy busting into the church to steal the bride. "That sounds like something I'd have done."

"Young men are always a bit foolish," Mal tells him, shaking her head, but smiling softly nonetheless. "But he didn't get the chance to act a fool."

"Because she got pregnant."

"Yes," Mal nods. "She did, and that threw off the plan… and they were off like bandits." She sighs. "They were so young though, and I don't think either of them really anticipated how hard their life would be."

"No, I don't imagine so."

"They always thought their life together would've been like my parents'–a quiet life on a tenant farm, raising whatever children they had." Her smile fades. "She wasn't happy. From the start, she wasn't happy."

"I know," he murmurs quietly, barely wanting to admit it and thinking it wasn't his place to do so.

It seemed unfair to make such a projection, and Regina had never fully admitted that. She always insisted that she and Daniel had moments of happiness together, and who was he to say that wasn't true? But it seemed so unlikely that she was happy; and every time he found another piece of the puzzle that made up a picture of her life she had after she left Dragon Head, it seemed unlikely that she could have found happiness in it.

"It had to have been quite a shock to her system."

"It was, and then after–" Mal's voice halts as she stakes her head. "I didn't condone what she was doing, but what other option did she have?" she asks as her eyes fall away from his. "I tried to help, but I didn't have a place to offer her. I was living in someone else's house on a very modest income." She sighs as she looks back to him. "She was stuck… and now it haunts her."

"It doesn't have to," he says, shaking his head. "She doesn't have to let it."

"Easier said than done," Mal says, shaking her head. "She cares too much what others think and… the last time, it broke her."

"I know."

"But as I said, she has support this time," she says, pointedly and somehow making it sound like a threat.

Robin nods, and a grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth, and for the second time that evening, he finds himself thinking that Mal's tone should be off-putting, but it's not. He appreciates her protective streak when it comes to Regina and that she offers no one–not even him–a pass. She was solidly in her corner, firmly on her side no matter what–and she needed that, she needed that beyond him.

"We should be getting back to the nursery."

Mal nods, and this time, she cracks a hint of a smile. "She'll read to them for hours if we let her, and they certainly won't stop her."

"Don't I know it," Robin says, shaking his head as a soft chuckle escapes him, thinking of the afternoons he found Regina curled up with the boys, a book fallen down beside them, asleep and napping in one of their beds, and the nights he found himself waiting for far longer than just "one last kiss goodnight" long after they'd tucked them into their beds.

"And they've got a busy day ahead of them," Mal says as they both turn toward the open door to the nursery. "But they should be quite tuckered out by late morning–"

"If you think that means they'll willingly take naps–"

"I'm not delusional," Mal laughs. "I'm hoping they fall asleep in the stables."

He grins. "That is the purpose of all those hay bales."

Regina doesn't look up as he and Mal come into the nursery–and he can't help the smile that spreads across his lips. Henry is already asleep, cuddled up to his dragon, and Regina is sitting on the edge of Roland's bed. His eyes heavy with sleep and he's struggling against it as Regina's fingers stroke gently through his hair. She's smiling down at him, whispering something to him in a soft voice–and whatever it is, a little giggle bubbles up from Roland. A moment later, Roland nods and Regina leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek and slowly pulling away from him.

"G'night, mama," Roland murmurs, his eyes fluttering as he smiles–and then his eyes shift to Robin. "G'night."

Reigna turns to face him, for the first time realizing she isn't alone in the room with the boys.

"You disappeared."

He nods, looking momentarily back at Mal, his heart aching at the thought of her pain being the subject of gossip just down the stairs. "There was something she wanted to discuss."

"Oh?" He watches as Regina rises from them bed, giving Roland's hand one last squeeze as she does, and when their eyes meet, she's suddenly very aware of the subject they discussed. "Oh," she murmurs. "I… I managed to forget for a few minutes."

"You know," Robin begins, taking a breath as he steps closer. "That sounds like an _excellent_ idea. Let's do that. Let's just… forget it."

"I'm not sure that's possible," Regina admits, her voice small. "I–"

"Things always look brighter in the morning."

"Not always–"

"Not if you don't let it."

Her brow arches as he reaches for her, grinning as he presses a soft kiss to her cheek, offering a quick wink before letting go of her and leaning down to kiss his son good night, wishing him happy dreams. He pulls himself back up and reaches for her hand, then crosses the small distances between the boys' beds, leaning in and nuzzling Henry as he tells him good night.

He can feel Regina watching–and from the corner of his eye, he can see Mal standing back in the doorway, grinning her approval. A little laugh escapes him as he stands, wishing Mal a good night before giving Regina's hand a little tug–and as he closes the nursery door, he sees Mal blowing out the lamps.

He blinks, watching for a moment as a hazy memory flickers–a memory he hasn't thought of since he was a child–but a comforting one, nonetheless. When he was small–younger than Roland–he feared the dark, always convinced that monsters loomed beneath his bed and in his wardrobe. It drove his nanny mad, but his mother was always more patient, leaving the lamp burning low until he fell asleep. She'd sit with him, too, reciting poetry–and that was the memory that flickered now.

"The sun descending in the west, the evening star does shine," he begins, almost able to hear his mother's voice accompanying his own. "The birds are silent in their nest, and I must seek for mine."

Regina's brow furrows softly as she looks to him, her head tipping as their eyes meet and a light chuckle bubbles up from his as he continues it.

"The moon like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night."

"That's… lovely," Regina says, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And somewhere my governess is rolling in a grave." She shakes her head. "I… I don't think I know that one."

"My mother used to read it to me when she'd put me to bed."

"Ah–"

"It's Blake or… one of those poets," he tells her. "There's a whole book of them somewhere around here, her cottage, most likely." He smiles softly. "That's where she liked to keep the things that inspired her."

"Did she read you that poem from the book?"

He shakes his head. "Recited it from memory."

"Of course–"

"It was comforting, though I was still convinced ghosts were going to slip in beneath the window sill and steal me away from her." He takes a breath, pushing away another memory–this time a much sadder one of that first night after his mother's death and how he'd cowered beneath the blankets reciting her favorite poems over and over to himself in an effort to comfort himself and convince himself that those very ghosts hadn't stolen his mother when they couldn't get to him. "But that one was a favorite for both of us."

Regina laughs a little, "That's sweet." Robin nods as her lip catches between her teeth. "But is… is there a reason you recited it to me, or were you just remembering?"

"Today was… difficult, to say the least."

"It was."

"But it's over now," he says, looking back into the darkened nursery, taking a moment to pull the door closed. "And the night has a way of… cleansing things."

"Cleansing things."

He nods. "What happened today is done and it'll soon give way to the things that tomorrow will bring."

"Except–"

"Tomorrow may… take a little longer than it takes for the sun to come again," he tells her. "It may be days or weeks, but eventually, what you're feeling will dull down, and the gossip will peter out once the next big scandal hits." Her eyes fall away from his, and he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. "They'll move on–"

"But the damage is already done."

"Maybe, but anyone who can't empathize with your situation isn't someone you need in your life."

"But I–"

"It'll be hard, but you won't bare it alone."

"Won't I?"

"No," he's quick to say as her eyes shift back up to meet his. "You won't. If you don't want to see or hear from any of them ever again, you won't have to."

"That's… not very realistic. I can't just… hide away from them."

"I hope that you won't, but if you do want to hide away for a little while," he says, once more offering her hand a reassuring little squeeze. "You'll have company."

"You're too good to me."

"No," he says, shaking his head in disagreement. "I don't think that's accurate."

"I do."

"Then we'll have to agree to disagree," he tells her, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "Today can't ruin tomorrow unless we choose to let it."

"Robin, that's a nice sentiment, but–"

" _I_ won't let it," he cuts in. "Especially not when we have plans."

Her brow arches. "We don't have plans, and if we do you've just made them up."

"Does it matter?" he asks, grinning. "The point is, you won't have time to sulk and worry and wonder."

"Won't I?" she asks, "Won't I when I go down to breakfast and see–"

"Oh, we'll be long gone before breakfast."

"But the boys won't be up until–"

"Mal has them taken care of," he tells her. "They've got a busy day ahead of them and she's already requested their breakfast."

"Of course she has." She blinks, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't–he just smiles and lets her wonder, enjoying that she has something else to think about as he works out the details of it in his head, wondering if they can really spend a day exploring together. "So, these plans…"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"But–"

"Wear sensible shoes."

Regina blinks. "What?"

"Maybe something you won't mind getting dirty." Regina's eyes narrow and he laughs, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her forehead, offering no more. "We should get to bed."

"But–"

"It's late."

"Robin, you can't–"

"Sorry to interrupt, m'lady," Belle says as she reaches the top of the stairs. "I was wondering if you're ready to change and–"

"Oh, Belle, you don't have to do that."

Belle's brow furrows. "But, it's my job."

"You… you don't have to wait on me."

"But, I'm a ladies' maid. That's what I'm hired to do."

Robin's eyes narrow as he looks to Regina, watching the way her cheeks flush and she avoids eye contact.

"Yes, but… when we hired you, you… you didn't know and…"

"Know what, m'lady?" Belle asks, and Robin blinks, his eyes shifting to the maid. "I'm sorry, I'm not quite following."

"I'm _sure_ you've heard."

Belle shakes her head. "Heard?"

"About what happened tonight, about… what I…"

"I'm sorry," Belle cuts in, shaking her head as her eyes go wide, and momentarily, as her eyes shift his meet his, a hint of a smile tugs up at her mouth. "I don't understand," she says, looking back to Regina. "I don't know about anything that's happened tonight."

"Belle, I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position or make you the subject of gossip.""

"People already gossip about me," Belle says, shrugging her shoulders. "And never once have you made me feel uncomfortable."

"But–"

"I've heard nothing that makes me uncomfortable and nothing worth gossiping about." Robin's gaze shifts back to Regina, and she looks perplexed as Belle stares almost blankly at her, that hint of a smile just barely noticable. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but if you're going somewhere early, I'd be happy to come up if you–"

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Regina says, clearing her throat as she shakes her head. "If I have to be up any earlier than usual, I'll dress myself. I don't know where I'm going, but I've several things that are easy to slip into. I'll manage just fine."

"Alright," Belle nods, taking a few steps toward them. "I'll go and pull out a few options." Regina nods as she walks past them and then, she halts, turning back to them. "Oh," she murmurs. "Mr. Locksley, John's walked down to the village. He didn't want Ruby to walk alone and he's not back yet. I hope–"

"I'm perfectly fine managing on my own," Robin says. "I may lose a cufflink without his assistance, but otherwise, I'll do just fine."

"That's what he assumed."

Robin nods as Belle continues down the hall toward their bedchambers, and when he turns back to Regina she looks bemused and unsure, and even a little touched.

"There's no way she doesn't know."

Again, Robin nods. "That's… likely true."

"She–"

"Cares about you," he supplies, not giving herself the chance to cut herself down. "You've been nothing but wonderful to that girl, and she has no reason to think unkindly of you." Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her cheek and gives her hand a little tug as he steps back. "Come on," he tells her. "We should be getting ourselves to bed."

"Because we've such a mysteriously busy day ahead of ourselves tomorrow?"

"Precisely."

"I suppose that's better than the alternative."

He sighs, giving her another tug as they start to walk slowly down the hall. "It is, but… you aren't alone."

"You keep saying that, but–"

"It's true," he tells her, his voice rising over hers. "I know it's hard for you to see, but not everyone's against you," he says, pulling her a little closer and letting go of her hand as his arm slides around her waist–and when her head falls to his shoulder, he can't help but smile as they continue like that the rest of the way. "The sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be."

Regina presses her eyes closed, trying to look as though she were already asleep as Robin gets into bed with her, and she tries to ignore how they burn with hot tears. For a moment, she thinks that maybe she's succeeded–that maybe he'll just blow out the lamp at the bedside and pull the covers up around himself, resigning himself to sleep–but then the curtains around the bed close and she feels Robin roll onto hiser side, and in spite of herself, she opens her eyes, revealing to him her tears.

"It's alright," he says, his voice softer and sweeter than it should be. "Everything's going to be alright."

"Why did you close the curtains. You never do."

"Privacy."

"From…?"

He shrugs, reaching out and wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't know. A scullery maid who comes to check on the fire or–"

"You mean who comes to gawk," Regina says as she draws in a breath. "Hoping to catch us in a compromising position–"

"We're married. It wouldn't be compromising."

"If I'm involved, it would be," she says, feeling her throat tighten a bit. "I know they're talking about it and–"

"And they haven't any right."

"That's debatable," Regina murmurs. "I mean, it's quite a scandal–the almost-lady of the house worked as–"

"Regina–" She sighs and momentarily, her eyes press closed. "Hey, come here," he murmurs as he scoots toward her on the bed. "Can I hold you?"

She feels herself nod and the suddenly Robin's arms are around her, pulling her to his chest as he holds her tight. He presses a kiss to her hair and whispers that he loves her, and as she draws in a breath, the faint smell of pine filles her senses–and her shoulders relax, if only slightly.

She's not entirely sure what it is about him–how it is that his embrace can do this to her–but as he strokes his hand up and down her back and intermittently drops kisses onto her hair, whispering sweet nothings to her without expecting a reply, she finds herself more and more relaxed–and then, all of the sudden, her tears are flowing freely.

"I'm sorry," she breathes out, lifting her head touching her fingers to a wet spot on his nightshirt. "Oh–"

"If you need to cry, cry."

She tries to smile, but it doesn't quite work out. "It was better when I thought you didn't know."

"Regina–"

"I could pretend."

"I don't love you any less, and I always knew–"

She nods. "But I didn't know that."

"Regina–"

"It's so embarrassing," she cuts, in shaking her head as she sits up. "I _let_ myself get to that point and I–"

"Love," he murmurs, sitting up as her voice catches in her throat. "What's done is done. There's no changing it."

"I just… think about… about our wedding night and how that maid _prepared me for you_ and I wonder–"

Her eyes sink closed remembering how she'd barely been able to keep her eyes at bay as a woman she didn't know removed her wedding dress and took down her hair, pulling off her corset and undergarments and putting her in a sheer, see-through robe. She'd looked at her with such disgust as she did it, not the way an older woman would look at a young bride on her wedding night, but the way a respectable woman looks at one whose fallen.

"And when you didn't want–" Her voice cracks as she looks at him. "I was so relieved–relieved because you didn't know."

"I know, but–"

"And now it's just… out there."

"We've all done things we're not proud of–and you now know that I am no exception to that."

She blinks, as she thinks of the story he told her and her eyes fall away from his. "You were hurting."

"And you weren't?"

"It was _one_ indiscretion for you."

"The situations were different."

"But–"

"As I said earlier, I was feeling sorry for myself and you were trying to survive. It doesn't matter how many times it happened–on either my account or yours. Your intentions were noble."

"Noble," she scoffs.

"You wouldn't let your son starve and you did _whatever you could_ to prevent it."

She nods. "Sometimes I… I wonder about that."

"What do you mean?" He asks, his brow furrowing. "What do you wonder?"

"About Henry–"

"I don't–"

"If keeping him there was fair," she says, tears immediately welling in her eyes at the thought of being separated from her son. "I know that there was no place for me, but I think my father would've taken him. I think Daniel's parents would have and–"

"You're his mother. He needs _you_."

"That tavern was no place for him."

Robin draws in a breath. "Then it's a relief that you and Henry have moved on from there."

Her eyes cast up to meet his, and she finds him swallowing sweetly–and when she leans in, just the slightest biut, his arms wrap around her and pull her to his chest, and again, she's filled with faint and comforting smell of pine.

"They're going to find out."

"Hm?"

"Henry, and Roland, but I'm mostly concerned about Henry–"

"About–"

"Me and what I did."

" _If_ they find out, it's a long ways away," he tells her, holding her a little tighter as he presses a kiss to her hair. "And they'll have years and years of wonderful memories with you to counter it."

"But–"

"They adore you, Regina. They'd be on your side."

"I worry that Henry remembers–"

"He was young. He likely doesn't."

Regina just nods in response, hoping that that's true. She pushes away the thought of it and focuses on Robin. Since they've met, he's always been so safe–even when she didn't know it–and he's always made her feel so secure–even when she didn't trust it. And as he strokes her back and tells her it'll be alright, she wants desperately to be able to believe him.

It still stuns her that he knew all this time–that he knew and never said anything, just allowing her to go on as if it hadn't happened. He was always patient, always kind and never assumed or expected anything; he was always willing to take whatever she was willing and able to give–not matter how limited and no matter how temporary–and when she–

She feels her shoulders stiffen.

He knew that she was keeping something from him, he just hadn't realized it was what it was.

"Robin," she murmurs, lifting her head.

"Yes, love?"

"You thought my secret was something else."

"Oh–"

"You did. You said you thought it was something, that it wasn't what it was, otherwise you'd have said something."

For a moment, he hesitates and then he nods. "I did."

"What did you think it was?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It _does_."

He hesitates for a moment, holding her gaze as her eyes plead with him–and the longer he stays silent, the harder her heart pounds. Tears begin to well up again, and that's what breaks his silence, as he sighs and nods, lookingand looks away.

"I… I thought it… it had something to do with the baby you'd lost," he admits. "I thought…"

She blinks. "You thought… what?" Momentarily his eyes sink closed and she can tell that whatever it is, he doesn't want to tell her–and thate scares her because she can't imagine much worse than the truth. "Robin–"

"You, um… you told me a story about a baby you lost, just after Daniel died."

Swallowing, she nods, easily remembering telling him because reliving that experience was difficult for her and it took a degree of trust she'd only just realized that they'd reached. She'd confided in him something she'd never told anyone about–only a handful of people knew she'd lost a baby, but only he knew how she felt about it–and that's what suddenly catches her attention.

"I thought that maybe some of the details of that story were… muddied."

"Muddied," she repeats, letting her eyes meet his. "What exactly does that mean?"

"I thought that… perhaps… the pregnancy happened at different time and that maybe you–"

"Oh," she breathes out, her eyes press shut as she connects the dots. "Because I… I was…."

"Not because you _were_ anything," he says, kneading his fingers against her hip. "Just… because of how things work and… your hesitation to…"

"I see."

"Regina–"

Her eyes open and she finds him watching her with the same soft expression he's been wearing all night. "So, you thought I got pregnant by… some random man in a seedy tavern…"

"I thought Jefferson, maybe," he admits, his voice a bit sheepish. "And I thought–"

He stops as her eyes widen at the realization that there's more, her stomach drops. "There's… something else?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does!" she urges. "It matters."

"It doesn't," he says, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter because it's not true."

"But you thought it of me."

For a moment, he hesitates–and then slowly offers her a half nod. "Alright," he says in a tentative voice. "… I wondered if you'd chosen to end that pregnancy."

"Because I said I was relieved," she says as the wind leaves her lungs and her stomach flops.

"In part."

"Oh–"

"I was wrong, but for what it's worth, I…"

"Thought I was capable of–"

"I thought you were in an impossible situation that spun out of control, and you managed it the best you could." Reaching out, he tips her chin up. "But it isn't true and if it were, it'd change nothing between us."

She nods. "I just–"

"For the record," he begins, a slow grin working its way on his lips, "I'm not interested in judging you or punishing you for the way you handled difficult circumstances, and quite frankly, there's _very little_ you could ever do or say that would change the way I feel about you."

She nods, wanting to believe that–and a part of her, does.

"I suppose, though, tonight has taught us something quite important."

"Has it?"

He nods and a soft chuckle escapes him as his thumb rubs gently at her jaw. "There's quite a lot that we don't know about each other." She scoffs, but he smiles as his hand cups her cheek, and she finds it difficult to look away from him. "But then, that's to be expected, given we both have a penchant for doing things out of order."

A little grin tugs up at her lips and she nods. "Perhaps."

"So, to clue you in on tomorrow's mysterious plans–"

"I am curious," she admits, her lip catches between her teeth as his smile brightens. "Incredibly curious, actually."

"Tomorrow, I think we should… reset things."

"Reset things?"

He nods and a little laugh escapes him. "I never had the chance to court you."

"You… want to court me?"

"Yes," he says easily. "That's exactly what I intend to do, starting tomorrow."

This time, it's her who laughs. "You… do realize that the purpose of courting is to gain a proposal."

"I am very aware of that."

"And you're aware that you and I are already married?."

"Oh, yes," he nods. "Very much aware."

"So, courting is… a bit of a moot point, don't you think?"

"There, I will have to disagree," he tells her, leaning in and pecking her lips. "Now,

"Robin–"

"You'll be grumpy in the morning, if you don't."

"But I–"

He laughs, leaning in again and pressing a soft, fluttering kiss to her lips–and then, he pulls back, opening up the curtain just enough to grab hold of their lamp and blow out the flame, sending the room into complete darkness. And as she lays back against the pillow beside him, she can't help but find herself a little excited for morning to come and to see what he has in store for them.


	26. Chapter 26

Settling back in the chair by the hearth, Robin reaches for his boots, his eyes shifting to Regina who's still asleep in the bed. He's been moving around the room as quietly as possible in an effort not to wake her. The sun still isn't up and she has a few more hours of restful sleep ahead of her, and as he looks at her, he can't help but notice how content and at ease she looks, without the weight of the world on her shoulders-and he hates that as soon as she wakes, that burden will return. **  
**

They'd gone to bed on a positive note, but the coming day-and those that would immediately follow it-would be a challenge. News of what happened at Zelena's dinner party would have surely had spread around and for awhile it would be a piece of gossip brought up in town and at dinner parties alike. The first time the rumor got out, it'd been contained. At that point, only a select handful of Jefferson's inner circle was made aware of it, and though to her it seemed that everyone knew, that had hardly been the case. Jefferson had gone to the continent not long after the billiards game that left him short a couple of teeth, and to Regina's favor something else-something he hadn't paid much attention to-had got swept up in the rumor mill. Then, of course, there was her father's ruin at his father's hand.

To most, Regina was merely the prodigal daughter returned.

The gossip surrounding her return hadn't much to do with Jefferson, and he'd made a fool of himself enough times getting drunk at the public house, for most sensible people, they took his blathering on about Regina with a grain of salt. As scandalous as it was that the beautiful and eligible daughter of Cora and Henry Mills ran off

with their stable boy, there was something romantic about it-and over time, the scandal of the story gave way to the tragedy.

People felt sorry for her. They pitied her. They judged her choices and looked down on her for them, but they also gave her the benefit of the doubt and didn't believe the worst of it. Then, of course, they pitied her for other reasons-reasons that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her father's misfortune.

Regina didn't know that though. She was constantly in her head and assuming that people knew the worst-knew it and believed it-and if they didn't know it was merely because they hadn't had the opportunity.

Now, though, everything was different.

The room was packed when they'd entered it the night before, filled with Zelena's friends and his father's friends, all of different age groups and social circles. The room was well-attended by footman who he knew had gone back downstairs to tell the maids, and he could only imagine what wild tales they spun once their imaginations were set loose.

Lacing up his boots, he looks at her and smiles wistfully. He couldn't protect her from the fall out of the night before forever, but he could try to shield her from it as long as he could.

Getting up from the chair, he pulled on his coat, quickly fastening the buttons before reaching for the candle at the tableside. He crept across the room to the door, still trying to be as quiet as possible, and he sighed as he saw that it was barely half past four. More than anything, he wanted to be in bed with her-cuddled up and warm beneath the blankets-but he'd made the promise of plans the night before, and when he'd offered them up as some sort of distraction, he hadn't actually had anything beyond distracting her in mind. Then, by the time they went to sleep, he had the beginnings of an idea-an idea that would require some setup and preparation.

He makes his way down the hall, peeking into the nursery to find the boys both fast sleep, and for a moment, he lingers there, just watching them.

Finally, he's on the stairs that take him through the back entrance, though the servants hall and the kitchen, and he finds it still dark; not even the scullery maid is awake. Using his candle, he lights a few around the kitchen, quickly locating a basket once the room is properly lit. He rummages through the cupboards, chuckling softly to himself as he loads the basket with fresh-baked scones and a jar of jam. There's an apple butter custard pie sitting on one of the shelves, likely to be served at today's tea, and he adds it to the basket before loading up on fresh apples and pears, and dried apricots and walnuts. Moving to the pantry he grabs a jar of pickles, and small basket filled with eccles cakes-and then, surveying the contents, he grabs a canister of loose tea leaves and one of the bottles of small ale that was likely a saved treat for the footman of the house.

Satisfied with his finds, he blows out the candles and heads for the door, almost immediately cursing the cool fall air as it sweeps up around him.

It's not long before he's at the stables, though, saddling up a horse and setting off for the woods.

It's a short and peaceful ride through the woods to his mother's cottage, and it woke him up and cleared his head. He spent the better part of the next two hours, setting up a breakfast tray and making a little game that he'd seen at a dull party once upon a time. He dusted off the shelves and opened up the window, and when he saw his mother's sketch books, open near the fire, he couldn't help but smile and remember the last time he brought Regina to the cottage-or the fun they'd had together while it rained.

The sky was beginning to lighten as he started on the way back to Sherwood, and as he rounded the bend to take him back to the house, a glimpse of the family graveyard caught his eye. His stomach tightened a little as he stopped the horse to look at a it, watching as the sun came up and illuminated the stones-and then, drawing in a breath, he found himself turning toward it instead of going to back to the house.

There was a little chapel where he and Marian had been married-and it was the same little chapel where he'd laid her to rest only a few years later. Next to his mother's, Marian's was the prettiest and most ornate stone and whenever he looked at it, he couldn't help but think of how ill-suited it was for her and how much she'd have hated it. Of course, he hadn't been a part of the conversation to pick it out. That had been left to… someone. Now that he thought of it, he wasn't sure who, and he didn't suppose that it mattered. He'd been too consumed by his grief, too worried about the well-being of his infant son, and Marian had never been one to care about such things. She was beautiful, but her taste was simple and plain; and, though the stone didn't reflect that in any way, it didn't matter because Marian would never see it.

"It's uh… it's been a long time," he says, slowly walking toward the grave. "I should come more, but-" Robin sighs as he comes to stand before the gravestone, a faint little smile tugging up at his lips as he remembered her. "You always told me you didn't want your grave to be a shrine. It seems I've taken that to heart."

He waits, almost as if waiting for her to laugh-but no sound comes and he sighs.

"Roland's well," he tells her. "A near-exact replica of you-big brown eyes, an infectious, kind smile and this mop of hair that… that drives my father mad." He laughs quietly to himself. "It's part of the reason I keep it long-long and curly-but it also reminds me of your hair, just after it'd been washed and-"

He stops, shaking his head and feeling a bit silly, standing there and talking to a lump of stone, but now that he's started, he can't seem to stop and all of the things he's bottled up inside of himself, the things he'd been waiting to tell her seem to get jumbled in his throat.

"I, uh… I took him to see your folks about a year ago. Your mother was visiting your sister and your father was away-sailing with the Navy, I assume, since they didn't say. I should take him again before winter," he says, decidedly. "I'll write this time and make sure they're there before I bring him by. I'm sure they'd like to see him." He pauses, considering it-wondering if Marian's parents would mind much if he brought along Henry and Regina, wondering how they'd react to that or if it'd be too painful. "They write, sometimes. I read their letters to him," he says, smiling. "Roland likes that. There's usually a letter at Easter and another at Christmas, and once or twice a year they send him a trinket of some sort and-" He feels a little bit of laughter burst from his chest. "Your father is always sending strange, exotic things. Last was this doll from Africa. It had a stern face and it scared him until he decided that the doll was your protector in Heaven and-" At that, his voice hitches. "He tucked it away in his trunk, for safekeeping." He chuckles softly. "Out of sight, but never out of mind."

There's another pause-longer than it seems-as he thinks of Roland and that doll. He thinks about his mother has become this sort of myth to him, like a Greek Goddess looking down on him and guiding him. He's not sure where Roland got the idea that that doll was Marian's protector-or why she needed one-but it comforted him, knowing that she was safe and not alone, and he'd let him believe it. There wasn't any harm-and Regina agreed.

He loved that about her-loved how unthreatened she was by Marian's memory-and how she worked to keep what she could alive for Roland. Once, not long after they were married, Roland asked her about his mother-asked if she knew her-and while Regina confessed that she didn't, she managed to spin a story about spirits and angels. She told him that even though he couldn't see his mother, she was there with him and watching him, loving him from afar, and making sure that no one hurt him. Roland liked that, and Henry nodded along. It was obvious the story was one that was familiar to Henry-and for Roland, that gave it credence.

"I, uh… I re-married," he tells her. "Regina Mills, if you can believe it."

He waits, almost as though waiting for Marian to laugh. She'd been more than aware of his boyhood crush, and once made a comment about being envious of her hair.

It seemed so odd, thinking of that silly dinner party his father had dragged them to when he and Marian were first married. They'd danced a few rounds, then Marian had been tired, so they found a little chaise in a room just off the ballroom. They settled there and kept the door open, watching as partygoers passed by them-making up stories about them and sharing bits of gossip they'd overheard here and there. It seems odd now that one of those stories had been about Regina-and it seems stranger that he'd have discussed Regina with Marian at all. But Marian had never once said anything unkind about Regina. Despite the scandal of Regina and Daniel's story, Marian wished them a happy life and that had been that.

"You'd like her," he says. "And her boy-he's such a precious little thing."

He smiles, thinking of Henry.

"Roland adores him. He looks up to him and follows him around like a puppy." He grins, remembering how Roland had been immediately enamored by the slightly older boy. "It seems strange to say, but… I think Roland was always meant to be the little brother." He smiles, laughing softly at that. "They get on well and have all sorts of wonderful adventures together." Once more, he pauses thinking of his sons and he finds it hard to remember a time when they weren't brothers, but when he does all he can think of is how Roland's childhood seemed so dull and incomplete without Henry. "He's happy, Marian… and… and so am I." He nods, drawing in a shaky breath as he reminds himself that Marian wanted him to love again, that she wanted him to remarry and give Roland a mother-and before he lets his thoughts linger to that ill-fated Christmas party, he draws in another breath and straightens himself, remembering how sure Marian had once been that this was the track he was meant to be on. "I believe now would be the point in the conversation in which you get to say I told you so."

He laughs a little, clearing his throat as he looks to his horse, stamping his foot impatiently in the mud. Looking beyond him, he notices that the sky is lightning and Sherwood is in plainview. It looks so small and so far away yet still, it looks so burdensome.

"I'll come again," he says. "Maybe after I've taken Roland to see your parents." He nods, liking that idea. "I'll tell you all about it," he murmurs, once more looking back at the house. Sighing, he presses his fingers to his lips and looks back to her grave, his eyes momentarily lingering on her name before he presses his fingers too it. "I love you," he says. "Don't ever think that Roland and I don't."

Turning away, he swallows-and for the first time since Marian's death, he realizes that coming to this spot doesn't bring tears to his eyes, and instead of remembering the day he buried her, he remembers her laugh and her smile and the love that grew between them. For the first time since her death, thinking of her doesn't hurt.

He lingers on that for awhile as he mounts the house and rides back to the stable, and by the time he's trudging back toward the house, the sky is light and his thoughts have moved on-and he feels a little bit of excitement bubbling up in him.

He's not sure that he's planned a thrilling day-quite the contrary, actually-but a relaxing day away from people seems to be what both he and Regina need. Even without the events of the previous night, it's been an exhausting couple of days filled with travel and entertaining and more travel.

This time, he enters the house through the front, and as he turns toward the stairs, he catches a glimpse of his father, sitting in the library staring into the fire.

His brow furrows as he stops, watching him for a moment, and remembering that he'd always been an early riser. He can remember countless times he'd awoken as a boy to find him this way-staring blankly into the fire, just before breakfast. He'd never asked about it-he'd been too afraid-but now, he's curious and now, he's unafraid.

"Looks like someone has a guilty conscience," he says, coming to stand in the doorway.

Richard doesn't look up. "I don't know what you mean."

"Surely, you can guess. Last night's dinner party left… a lasting memory."

"Mm," his father grints, still not looking at him. "That, it did."

He feels his jaw tighten as a knot form in his stomach, and he remember Mal telling them that Jefferson hadn't stayed for dinner. He can't imagine that anyone could have, but he's long stopped thinking the best of people and he assumes, despite the awkwardness thrust upon the evening by Jefferson's brash words, the rest of the guests decided to stay, if not for the meal then for the gossip and spectacle of the whole thing.

"Was it you?"

"Was what me?"

"Was it you who sent Jefferson away." Robin watches as his father's shoulder rise and fall with a sigh, but he offers no more of an answer. "I was told that Jefferson Hatfield was sent away, that he wasn't allowed to stay for dinner."

"He was drunk."

"I know," Robin murmurs, making a conscious effort to keep his voice even. "Was it you, though?"

"I couldn't let him ruin the night." A feeling of relief washes over Robin, but it only lasts a moment. "After all the trouble that Zelena went to to arrange-"

"Zelena-"

"Yes. It was her party."

"It's Zelena's feelings you're worried about?" He feels his anger boiling at his core and heat rises up the back of his neck. "Of all-"

"You have no idea the work she put into arranging this dinner party. It meant the world to her."

Robin feels his shoulders tense. "Yes, telling the cook what food to prepare-"

"It's more than that, and you know it."

Robin's eyes roll. "And I think someone else's feeling were far more hurt-"

"Regina," Richard scoffs, finally turning to face his son. "You're talking about Regina, I assume."

"Who else would I be talking about?" Robin barks. "She was devastated and-"

"She should have thought of that."

His brows arch incredulously. "You're blaming her for this?"

"Jefferson Hatfield was the drunken messenger. Regina was-"

"The victim in all of this."

"Hardly," Richard scoffs. "She knew-"

"Do not blame her," Robin cuts in, his voice rising with anger. "You don't know the whole story. You don't know her." He scoffs, reminding himself that it's not his story to tell, reminding himself that there are likely maids lingering and waiting for some juicy bits of the story to fall from his lips. "How can you blame her, but not him? He was the one who-"

"Hired a prostitute?"

"Don't call her that."

"It's what she was," he replies plainly.

"She was desperate. She had a child to take care of-"

"A child who was born because of her previous misdeeds." He arches a brow. "You can't deny that your wife has a loose sense of-"

"No," he cuts in. "As always you're wrong and too pompous to realize it." He scoffs as he feels his anger mounting. "You always do this. You always make assumptions and pretend they're the truth. Regina was in a difficult place. She'd lost her husband and didn't have options. She did what she had to do to keep a roof over her child's head, to keep him clothed and fed-"

"Again, all because of her previous misdeed. There's a pattern here."

Robin's jaw tightens, remembering Regina saying the same thing the night before, knowing that this was how people would view her choices. "There's no pattern. And still, you seem easily able to forgive Jefferson's misdeeds."

"Jefferson is a drunken fool."

"Who took advantage of a woman in a dire circumstances."

"You could look at it that-"

"There's no other way to look at it!" Robin yells, no longer caring about who might overhear him. "Jefferson was in the wrong. He took advantage. He knew who she was. He knew her story, we all did!" He shakes his head, remembering how Jefferson had gloated the night he'd invited him and some other men their age to drink and play billiards, and he remembers how he insisted he was trying to help Regina that night. "He could have helped her. He knew what she was doing, how dangerous it was," he says. "He could have-"

"He could have what?" Richard cuts in. "Paid her rent? What responsibility did he have?"

"Sure. Maybe he could have done that, or maybe he could have just shown her some degree of human decency." Robin shakes his head, suddenly remembering the conversation he'd had with her father about how he'd have accepted her and her child, how he didn't care so much of the circumstances. "Or told her family, told people who could have actually helped her. He was in a position to stop what was happening and instead he chose to exploit it."

Richard doesn't respond. Instead, he just looks back to the fire. "Zelena was engaged to him, you know. Do you know how embarrassed she was?"

"She should have been. Her fiance was an embarrassment."

Richard scoffs. "She broke it off. It nearly ruined her."

"And last night was merely a way to get revenge, on Regina and on Jefferson," Robin says, shaking his head. "I can't believe you don't see it."

Once more, Richard offers no reply, and Robin decides not to waste anymore time on him-not when there are people upstairs, much more deserving of his attention.

Regina's eyes flutter open and she rolls onto her side to find Robin beside her, smiling and looking quite awake. Without saying anything, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips, grinning as he pulls back and lets his fingers linger at her jaw.

"Good morning," he tells her, his blue eyes shining.

"Mm, good morning."

"You seem to have slept well."

Tucking her hands between her cheek and the pillow, she musters a smile. "You'd be surprised to know what I can sleep though."

"Well, I'm glad for that."

"Are you?"

He nods. "It's better that you're well-rested today."

Momentarily, her eyes narrow in confusion-and then, she remembers the supposed plans he has for them. A smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. She's not sure what she did to deserve a man like Robin Locksley, a man so kind and patient, forgiving and thoughtful, but no matter what it was that brought him into her life, she's glad that she has him-and she's glad for the comfort his presence brings her. She should be devastated right now. She should be embarrassed and want to hide away from the world, but instead of that, she feels a curious sort of excitement bubbling up within herself and when he looks at her the way that he's looking at her now, she can feel his love-and somehow, all the rest seems to matter less.

"You've been so coy about what these plans are."

He laughs a little. "I've been coy on purpose."

"Because it's a surprise or because you have no idea what you're doing and are scrambling to think of something?"

"A little of both," he admits. "But I've thought of it now."

Her brow arches. "And you still won't tell me?"

"No. Not a word."

Pulling herself up, she draws in a breath. "Thank you."

"You don't even know what the-"

"No," she cuts in. "Not for… not for whatever you've planned for today, but for… for loving me."

"Well, that's easy."

"It's not, though," she insists. "It's not easy, but that fact that you seem to think it is makes me love you all the more."

Leaning in, he presses another soft kiss to her lips. "I'm glad to."

"Even if… it means that people make assumptions about you and will treat you differently and-"

"You forget that I was something of a shut-in before you came along," he tells her, his eyes still shining as he smiles at her. "I don't care what people think of me. I don't need people to like me. I don't care if I don't receive dinner invitations or to be invited to play cards. None of that matters to me." Reaching out, he takes her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Especially not when I have people in my life that I want to spend my time with."

"You sound so sure."

"I am," he nods. "You, Henry, and Roland are the only people I need."

"Well, it seems you're stuck with-"

"I want to be stuck with you."

Regina grins, remembering Mrs. Beakley telling her he'd feel that way-and she feels a soft fluttering in her stomach as his thumb rubs at her wrist. "So, you… you really won't give away any details?"

Robin's eyes narrow and she laughs a little as he considers it. "Dress warmly. We'll be outside."

"Outside?" she asks. "I… somehow didn't think of that."

"What did you think?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But-" Her voice halts and her cheeks flush. She can hardly believe this is what they're talking about and that there isn't a cloud of the night before hovering over them. "Warm as in a long-sleeve dress or should I bring along a cloak?"

"Long sleeves."

"Alright," she murmurs, her eyes narrowing. "Anything else?"

He shakes his head. "No."

A frown forms on her lips. "So, that's all you'll give me? Long sleeves because we'll be outside?"

"For part of the time."

"Part of the time…"

"Yes," he nods, laughing at her confusion. "Can I call for Belle?"

"You're in a hurry," she says, laying back against her pillows and turning her head to toward the clock on the mantle. "It's barely seven. No one's even awake yet."

"Belle is."

"Yes, but-"

"I want to be out before breakfast."

"Why?" she asks, rolling onto her side. "Avoiding the inevitable visit of my mother? Surely, she's heard."

"No doubt she has," Robin sighs. "But, no. It's just… breakfast awaits us."

"It does?" she asks, more confused than she was before. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see," he tells her, his words practically musical. "We'll have luncheon, too, I think. There's enough to make a couple of meals out of it."

Her eyes widen, but Robin offers no more. Instead, he leans in, practically stretching out on top of her as he kisses her-and she can't help but relax as his hand cups her cheek and his tongue swirls around her. Her arm comes up around him, settling loosely around his shoulders-and for a moment, she entertains the idea of letting herself get swept up in this moment, to let it keep going and to see where it leads.

But before she can, Robin pulls away, leaving her breathless as she watches him pull the cord to ring for Belle-and it's then that she notices that save his boots, he's fully dressed.

"You… you've been somewhere."

"Yes," he says, rolling out of bed. "Can you ask Belle to bring us a jug of hot water?"

"For-? 

"To take along with us."

"Are we going far?"

"No," he tells her, grinning as as he smooths his clothes. "I'm going to see if the boys are awake yet. I'd like to see them before we go."

"Robin, what-"

She doesn't finish. He's gone from the room before she can manage it. She sighs, exasperated as she pulls herself up in bed and looks around the room. She notices that the paper in the wastebasket has been changed, and she remembers the heaviness in her stomach that she'd tried to purge the night before-and as she looks at the basket, it feels like that was a lifetime ago, instead of mere hours.

Standing in the mirror, she stares at herself. The nightgown she's wearing is an old one-one that was hers before she had Henry. She'd taken it with her when she ran away with Daniel. It was a silly sort of comfort and she'd wear it when she was missing home-or rather, the comforts of home. It was made from an expensive cotton and it had silk ribbon that laced up the front and was woven through the fabric at the wrists. There were little silk flowers that were barely noticeable and embroidered in white and now that she considered it, it seemed a bit too little girl-ish. But still, it was comfort.

Regina turned to the side, examining herself.

The nightgown was more fitted than it once was. She easily remembered that first night back at Dragon Head when her mother sent up a maid to undress her. Regina insisted on this particular nightgown, and when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, it was only then that she realized how thin she was. Her clavicle was pronounced and her shoulders seemed so small, and the fabric just hung on her. It was like a tent.

Her skin was paler than it had been before and her cheek bones more defined-but not in a way that might have made her prettier. She was gaunt and ghost-like, a shell of the rebellious teenager she'd been. For years, she told herself that she'd merely grown up, but as she stood there, watching as a maid she didn't know brushed out her hair, she realized that had all been a lie she made herself believe. If not for the nightgown, she wouldn't have even recognized herself.

She didn't consciously choose this particular gown the night before, but as Belle returned her jewelry to its box, she reached absently into the wardrobe and pulled it out-and it seemed appropriate, still a comfort to her when she needed it.

It fit better now, she thought, as her eyes lingered over the gown. Her hips and breasts were plainly noticeable underneath it, and the fabric fit around her form, creating a nice silhouette. Her cheeks had filled in, too, and her bones no longer pressed against her skin. She looked healthier now and she felt better, and if she was being honest with herself, despite what happened the night before, she was happy, too.

"Good morning," Belle says as the door opens. "You're up early."

"Mm," Regina nods, turning as she watches her come in, her eyes narrowing at the kettle that Belle carries. "I'm surprised I slept at all."

"It was… a long day."

"You could say that."

"And how are you feeling today?"

Regina draws in a breath. "I don't know," she admits quietly. "Better than I should." Belle sets the kettle down and Regina's brow furrows as she pulls a tea cup from her apron pocket. "What are you doing?"

"Oh," Belle breathes out, smiling as she pulls out a tea strainer. "Mr. Locksley asked that I bring you some water for your tea and I didn't have time to grab a tray." She grins, looking a bit confused. "He… said you were going away for the day."

"Yes… apparently."

"But that it was important you had your morning tea before."

A grin twists onto her lips and she feels a little laugh bubbling up. "Of course he did."

"He said you had the tea?"

Regina nods, her eyes pressing closed and she stifles her laugh. This shouldn't be funny to her, but somehow it is-and she's glad for it, glad that in spite of the night's events, things with Robin seem unchanged. It makes it more tolerable, keep a feeling of normalcy, and thinks that as long as she has him and their boys to focus on, maybe the rest doesn't matter.

"I'll make the tea," she says, grinning as she turns back to the mirror. "Could you pick out a dress? Something with long sleeves? I don't care which."

"Sure," Belle says, nodding as she moves toward the dressing room.

For a moment, Regina just stands there, staring at her reflection and thinking of girl who'd thrown away a life of comfort, not caring what anyone thought of her or the choices she made. She thought about how she'd fought with her mother at every turn, wanting nothing more than to make her own choices and forge her own path to find a life that made her happy. Somewhere along the way, she lost that girl, but as she looked at herself now, she thought she might be able to see a glimpse of her staring back at her.

She didn't dwell on that, instead moving to the table to where the tea chest sat-and when she opened it, the smell of tea and lemon wafted into the air, and it made her smile.

She had control of her life; she just needed to claim it.

She filled the cup with water and then filled the strainer with tea before dipping it into the water, watching as it slowly diffused through the water. She settled with the teacup in the chair by the hearth and folded her legs beneath herself as she sipped the tea, and allowed her thoughts to focus on Robin and whatever it was that he might have planned for their day together.

"Do you want the brown or the red?"

Regina blinks as she looks up. "Red."

Belle smiles. "I like that one, too."

Regina's brow furrows a bit. "I don't have many long sleeve dresses, do I?"

"Mm, not many, no."

"I didn't go out much last fall. I mostly stayed at Dragon Head with Henry, and before-." She stops, pushing away the thoughts of her life before returning to her parents, deciding she's dwelled on it for long enough. "There wasn't much need for a variety."

"I'm sure Ruby can help with that."

Regina smiles. "I'm sure."

She watches as Belle undoes the back buttons of the red day dress. It'd been a gift from her father to celebrate her homecoming-and she assumed it was also because her mother complained that none of her clothes fit properly. He'd picked the fabric himself and told Granny Lucas to make something nice and fashionable. When you looked closely, the fabric had little white polka dots on it and the sleeves had a subtle puff at the shoulder. The buttons were white and the fabric gathered beneath the bust. She'd been wearing it the day that Robin came to Dragon Head to propose.

She finishes the tea and Belle dresses her, and together they pick out a white knit shawl. Belle pins up her hair, putting in the last pin as the door opens and Robin comes in-and she can't help but notice the way he grins as he spots the empty tea cup.

"You look beautiful," he tells her, a bit unnecessarily. "But then, you always do."

She grins at him through the mirror of her dressing table. "Are we… going now?"

"If you're ready?"

"I am," she says, nodding as her eyes shift to Belle. "Thank you-and oh! I just remembered, I'm supposed to ask you for a hot water bottle to take."

Belle nods. "I'll get it now. I'll bring it to you by the door."

"Thank you," Regina says as Belle smooths her hands over her apron-and then a moment later, it's just the two of them.

Robin sits down on the bench beside her. He reaches out and turns her chin toward him, and she catches a glimpse of his smile as he leans in and kisses her softly. She kisses him back, turning herself toward him and letting her hand brush over his stubbly cheek-and when he pulls back, she feels her cheeks flush.

"Are you ready?"

"I think so."

"Are you excited?"

She bites down on her bottom lip. "I think so."

He chuckles softly then rises up. "We should go. Breakfast awaits."

"I should check on-"

"They've already left."

"What?"

"Mal has them in the stables already," he tells her. "She's teaching them about horse care apparently."

"She would know about that," Regina says, a bit wistfully. "It's just odd not starting my day by seeing them."

A grin twists onto his lips and her head tips to the side. "Well, then it's a good thing that's our first stop."

Robin pulls her up from the bench, and she can't help but laugh as he practically drags her across the room-and she feels excited anticipation beginning to bubble up inside of her for whatever it is that's to come.

Regina shivered as she craned her neck while she and Rocinante followed behind Robin and his horse down an unfamiliar path in the woods. Aside from their stop at the stables, he'd been annoyingly tight-lipped about his plans for the day-and part of her wondered if her was just making it up as they went.

Of course, she'd have been perfectly fine with that-she was glad to be away and distracted.

That morning, after she'd dressed they'd gone down to the stables. The air was chilly, but the sun was warm and the air smelled crisp-and as soon as they entered, Roland looked up at them, smiling widely despite the clothespin on his nose, declaring that he was learning to muck out the horses' stalls. Mal grinned as Henry explained that Mal thought it was best that they learn how to care for horses before learning to ride them, and as Robin agreed that was an important thing to do, she notices that horse blankets and brushes set out on a workbench at the far side of the stables. Beneath it was a bucket of carrots and apples, and she laughed to herself, remembering the days she'd willingly volunteered to help Daniel and Mal with such work. She didn't mind it. She enjoyed their company, and whenever she fed the horses, their noses would tickle her palm and make her laugh.

They spent a few minutes chatting with Mal, as she explained what the boys would be doing that day, and then they were off to, apparently, wander through the woods.

"Almost there," Robin calls to her, her eyes narrowing skeptically. "Do you have any idea where we're going?"

"No," she sighs, again looking around for some familiar marker.

"Really? I thought you'd have guessed."

"I had an idea, but-" Her voice halts "We went another way before."

"Yes," he nods as Rocinante steps up beside his horse. "This is the prettier route. The trees are gorgeous this time of year. Some of my favorites."

Regina blinks, then looks around. She hadn't noticed anything special about the trees. "You… have favorite trees."

He nods. "I like the really old ones. Like that one."

"Ah," she murmurs, nodding as she looks to where he's pointing and not noticing anything profound about the tree or any around it. "I see."

Robin laughs, kicking sides of his horse to once again take the lead as they go down the narrow path toward his mother's cottage. They don't go through the same gate as they did before, instead coming up from the back of the house, and she grins, noticing the bay window at the back. She hadn't noticed that before.

"Are there… more rooms than just the one?"

Robin nods. "A bedroom."

"Oh, I didn't-" Her brow arches, remembering the last time they were there and how he'd made a makeshift pallet on the floor for them to settle on. The floor was made of dirt and her knees were dirty the by the time left. "There's a bed?"

"There was," he says. "It's mostly… filled with things that needed storing."

"Ah-"

"Besides, it was sort of nice… being together in front of the fire and-"

Her cheeks flush, remembering it-remembering how badly she'd wanted him, remembering how difficult it was to resist him, and remembering what she'd done to allow them some degree of relief. "That was… um, nice."

Robin hops down from his horse and takes its reins, then offers her a hand, helping her down from Rocinante. Together they walk to the front of the house, and she smiles, remembering now. Thought it's only been a handful of weeks since the last time they were there, the cottage looks so different now that it's fall. The flowers are no longer in full bloom and everything a bit dimmer and more sparse, with the exception of a few holdouts. The birdbath is filled with water, though, and a blackbird seems to be enjoying himself, uncaring of their presence. Robin ties up the horses, and Rocinante immediately notices a pear tree within his reach-and a soft smile pulls onto her lips, as Robin pulls her into the cottage.

Candles are lit and the fire is burning, and on the table by the window, there's a tray of food set out. Her smile brightens as her eyes trail over the scones and pie-and then, a little laugh escapes her as she looks back to him, watching as he watches her.

"You raided the kitchen, didn't you?"

"I may have found a couple of things just lying around."

"I think they were meant for breakfast."

"And so we'll have them."

She laughs a little and turns, noticing that he's set up a little table and chairs by the hearth where their pallet of blankets had once been. Her eyes narrow, remembering that it was pushed up against the wall the last time they were there, covered in dusty books and jars.

Robin pulls out one of the chairs and she giggles as she takes a seat, watching as Robin gives the cart a little tug and pulls it over the to the table. "This cart was specially made to move," he tells her. "My nanny once told me that my mother used to load it up with art supplies and me, and push it from the main house to the cottage, then use it as a workspace while I played in the garden."

"How practical."

He nods. "She was-or so I'm told."

Her stomach flutters a little as she looks around. The cottage has been cleaned up and there's a little soft in the place where the table once was, and a blanket that she's seen at the main house. The mantle is no longer covered in

"How long did it take you to clean this place up?"

"Me? None." He answers. "It took John the better part of the night and has earned him the rest of the week off."

"Oh, Robin, you-"

"Wanted to surprise you."

"But-"

"For one night's work, he gets a four day holiday, put up at the tavern. He gets to spend his days drinking and playing cards at my expense. Don't feel sorry for him-he's certainly not." She grins, and nods as Robin draws in a breath. "I feel like it goes without asking, but I assume you'd like to start with the apple butter custard pie?"

"Please."

He cuts her a larger-than-necessary slice, and the loads up two plates with all sorts of breakfast goodies-giving them a bit of everything.

"Pickles?" she asks, arching a brow as he lifts the jar. "For breakfast?"

"You like apples. I like pickles."

Biting down on her lip, she nods. "I didn't know."

"As I said last night," he tells her, grinning. "There's a lot about each other we don't know."

Her cheeks flush a little and she nods. "That's true."

"And that's why this will help," he says, reaching down beneath the cart and lifting a glass jar. "Something to entertain us."

"As if my riveting conversation isn't thought?"

"It's more than enough," he says plainly. "But this will… guide it."

"Ah-"

Robin sits down, and it's only then that she remembers the hot water bottle that Belle packed for them, and she grins watching as he makes them tea. He works diligently, focused on the tea, and she remember the night she made them dessert-for-dinner at the hunting lodge, the first time they were there-and she remembers how useless and clumsy he was in kitchen, and what struggle it must be for him now, to be making them tea.

And somehow, that sends a soft fluttering through her stomach.

"So, this jar-"

"Not yet."

"Oh," she frowns, looking at it, noticing the blue-and-white gingham fabric square tied around the top and the pieces of parchment folded up inside of it. "But-"

"You'll see."

Biting down on her lip, she nods, still focused on the jar. "I just-"

Robin laughs out and he stirs the strainers in their cups. "It's filled with questions."

"What kinds of questions."

"All kinds."

"Oh," she murmurs, her eyes narrowing curiously at it.

"To help us get to know each other."

She blinks up and him and grins. "Can we play through breakfast."

He grins back and nods. "If you want to."

"Can I pick the first one?"

"How about you take a bite first."

She laughs, plucking up the tin fork and stabbing it into the pie-and then, she pulls the fabric off the top of the jar and plucks out on of the parchment slips.

"What if I don't like the question?"

"It's nothing difficult, and besides, we already admitted the worst to each other. The rest should be easy."

For a moment, she just stares at him, chewing at her lip and nodding. "I'd just… hate to discover something like you hate apples and-"

"Ahhh," he murmurs, chuckling softly. "Would that be your breaking point?"

"Perhaps."

"So, the rule, is we both answer."

"Oh-"

"And if there's something you really don't want to answer, then you can get out of it by kissing me."

"Well, why would we answer any questions?"

He laughs. "Because you only get three kisses."

"And I decide after I see the question?"

"Yes, and whoever opens the questions, answers second."

"Alright," she murmurs, holding her breath as her stomach flutters and her fingers unwrap the strp of parchemnt-and she breathes out a sigh of relief when she sees the question in his hand. "Favorite color."

"Easy. Green."

"Blue," she says. "Light blue."

"That's a good color on you."

Her cheeks flush as she watches him choose another, and she takes another bite of the pie as she watches him read the question. "First pet."

"Rocinante."

"My father didn't like pets. I wanted a puppy, and he reminded me we didn't live in a barn."

"Oh, you poor-"

"So, I found a baby fox and brought it in." At that, her eyes widen. "His name was Todd, and for months, my father thought Todd was a nephew or grandson of someone who worked on the estate."

Regina giggles softly. "And what happened once your father discovered Todd was a fox?"

"He moved to the stables, until he ran off with a girl fox." A grin twists onto Robin's lips. "And I learned the the hard lesson that if there was ever a choice between me and a girl, my friends would always choose the girl."

Laughing, Regina nods and selects another question-and for the better part of an hour, they eat and answer silly questions. She leans that Robin won an archery prize when he was fourteen that he likes poetry. His favorites are poems about nature and anything written by William Blake, and she nearly cashes in a kiss instead of confessing that she doesn't much care for Blake or poems about trees-then to her surprise, instead of naming a favorite desert, he kisses her, claiming there are too many good ones to choose from and the temptation to kiss her was far greater than his desire to narrow down possibilities. She learns later that he enjoys pine trees most, and when she can't name a favorite tree, she leans in and kisses him rather than ask if "green and leafy" isn't an actual type.

She used another kiss following his-not even aware of what question she was avoiding-in an effort to keep a kiss going, and her third kiss was used up when she didn't want to supply an answer about her education growing up, not wanting to rehash the fights with her mother or think about the switch her governess was given to use on the backs of her legs.

"Favorite fruit," he says, laughing as his brow arches. "As if that isn't apparent to anyone who knows you."

"Apples," she sighs, rolling her eyes. "That's the only correct answer, by the way. You don't get to choose something else."

"No? No peaches or boysenberries or figs or-"

"Figs? Please tell me you're joking."

"So, tell me," he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "What is it about apples."

"I just like them. The smell, the taste… everything."

"But other fruits taste and smell good."

"True," she admits, "But none of them make me feel the way apples do."

HIs head tips to the side. "Feel?"

Sighing, she nods. "It's stupid, but-"

"I'm sure it's not."

"I don't even remember it, not really, anyway," she confesses. "Just… little bits and pieces."

"Tell me."

Drawing in a breath, she nods and launches into the story. She was about three, she couldn't have been older, and her mother had gone off to visit a sick aunt in France, leaving her and her father to their own devices. She remembered it seemed that her mother's carriage hadn't even reached the end of the path that would take her away from Dragon Head before another carriage was pulling up and her father was loading her into it.

She doesn't remember much of the journey, just that she was glad that it was just the two of them, and when they arrived to their destination, she remembers a little cottage tucked away in a patch of trees. She doesn't remember how long they were their or if who they stayed with, but she does remember the apples-every night it seemed they apples with their meal or in a desert. She remembers helping someone-presumably her father, though that didn't make much sense-to wash and peel them, and remembers falling asleep and night with the smell of apple blossoms coming in through the window with the night air.

Whenever she was, she was happy, and she remembers that her father was happy, too-and that they both hated to leave.

But they sent away with a bushel of apples and they ate them along the way. Her father collected the sees in a little case, and when they got home, Dragon Head seemed even bigger and emptier than it did before. Her father took her outside the morning after they returned, and she remembers watching as he dug a hole in the grass. He opened up the tin and dumped the seeds into her hand and helped her plant them. They watered it with a watering can and then he took her back to the house-and that had been that.

"We didn't talk about it ever again," Regina says. "My mother came back, and even though my father never told me that it was secret, I somehow knew that it was."

"How long did it take for a tree to grow?"

"By the following spring, it'd started-and it took years for apples to actually grow on it."

"Is it still there?"

"Yes," she says, nodding. "And my father still cares for it."

"Not the gardener?"

"No," she says. "He likes to do it."

"And it's safe to assume that you helped."

"I did," she nods. "Even before it fruited, little blossoms would grow on it and it smelled so good… it smelled like happiness to me."

"That's… sweet."

She shrugs. "Apples remind me of that."

A lopsided grin tugs up at one corner of his mouth. "I almost feel bad for teasing you now."

"It's alright," she tells him. "I don't mind. I know it's not cruel-"

"Never."

Grinning, she plucks another question from the jar-there are only a handful left, and she's surprised to find that makes her a little sad. It's been fun learning things about Robin and sharing things about herself-but her breath catches in her chest as she reads First Kiss on the parchment slip.

"Easy," Robin says. "Marian."

"Tell me about it."

"About the first time I kissed Marian?"

He nods. "It's nothing profound."

"Still-"

"Alright," he says, drawing in a breath. 'Usually, it was me who came to see her, but one day, she was feeling good and rode all the way to Sherwood to see me. She surprised me with cookies."

"That's… adorable."

He nods. "It was, and I was so excited to see her that when I invited her in… I kissed her."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

"Did she kiss you back?"

"The second time."

"The second time?"

He laughs, and nods. "She pulled back, obviously stunned. We were just friends, then, and so we'd obviously never done anything like that before, and I was always sort of shy and awkward-and, then I leaned back in and kissed her again, and that time, she was less surprised by it." He grin, obviously enjoying the memory. "I had a maid bring us tea and we sat in a window seat, dipping the cookies in it and stealing kisses-practicing, we both decided."

"You two seemed like such a sweet couple."

Robin nods. "The kisses got better as time passed, after they were matched by feelings."

"That's usually the way."

"But it was fun."

"Of course it was."

"The first time I kissed her for real was one night after we had a quiet little dinner in her room." He smiles sadly, as his eyes shift to the fire. "Actually, the first real kiss we shared was one she initiated, and it was my turn to be a little taken aback."

"I like that we can do this," Regina hears herself say as Robin's eyes shift back to her. "That we can talk about past loves and… and not be jealous or worry about being a second choice or-"

"It is nice," he admits. "You're the first person I've ever really been able to talk to her about."

She grin. "I'm glad you feel like you can."

Robin nods, and for a moment, he seems to get lost in a memory-and then, he snaps him back into the present moment. "And you? I assume your first kiss was Daniel."

Bristling, she bites down on her lip. "That… is what one would assume."

"But it's not?"

"No," she admits, her voice suddenly small and hard to hear over her fast-beating heart.

For a moment, she thinks ot leave it there. To simply not answer. But Robin already knows the worst of her secrets, and this particular secret isn't really one she's embarrassed by-though, it's not one she'd share with just anyone.

Of course, though, Robin isn't just anyone.

"My father had a friend who used to come and stay with us. His whole family would come. My mother hated it, but they had a lot of money and they were from the city, so naturally, everyone around here felt they were more cultured."

"Naturally."

"One of the children-the oldest actually-was my age."

"Ah-"

Her stomach flops as he nods, thinking that he understands-and again, it occurs to her that she could leave it there and offer no more of an answer. "Her name was Claire," she says instead. "She was pretty and six months older than me, which made her seems so much more worldly and knowledgeable."

Robin doesn't flinch, but his eyes are fixed on her.

"She, um, she asked me one day if I'd ever kissed a boy, and I confessed that I was afraid to, that I was worried I'd be bad at it." Drawing in a breath, she closes her eyes momentarily, remembering the way Claire had looked at her, how close they were sitting, and how fast her heart was beating. "She, of course, had kissed someone before, and she offered to teach me."

"Ah-"

"So… that was that."

"Was it more than just the one kiss?"

"It was," Regina says, nodding. "And by the end of the summer, I felt confident enough to kiss Daniel." She shrugs. "That was better," she admits. "Like you said, it usually is when feelings are involved."

A little smile curls onto Robin's lips and his eyes narrow slightly. "Did you see Claire again after that summer?"

"No," she admits, her voice falling a bit. "By the following summer, she'd been sent off to a finishing school-something that made my mother incredibly envious-and the summer after that, she was engaged to a Russian Grand Duke."

"She liked you."

"We were friends."

"She had a crush on you," he says easily, seemingly unbothered. "Did you keep in touch? Letters or-"

"No," she says quietly. "Nothing like that."

"Did you miss her?"

Regina nods. "I did, but she went her way and I went mine and… that's how childhood friendships are."

Robin nods, reaching into the jar and pulling out another parchment slip-and next, he asks her if she prefers sunrises or sunsets, like she hasn't confessed anything that should be shocking or off-putting. Her throat tightens a bit and she smiles, as she tells him she prefers to watch the sun set-she likes sleep far too much to ever properly enjoy a sunrise-and she feels a rush of emotion as Robin agrees.

They go through a few more questions, and she feels a rush of emotion. "You're really unbothered by-"

He blinks, looking down at the slip between his fingers. "By-"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "About… what I told you about… the kiss."

"Oh," he murmurs. "I don't see why I would be." He shrugs, "I am a bit upset that I didn't think of that first."

"Of what?"

"To simply ask you for a kiss." He laughs a little. "I had such a crush on you, but I couldn't even talk to you. I saw you around enough, and-" He laughs softly, showing no signs of judgement or bother. "Did I never tell you about the very first time I saw you?"

"Um, wasn't it… at a party or something. I snuck away to the stables and-"

"No," he cuts in. "It was long before either of us would have been allowed." He grins. "My nanny took me-"

"Your nanny?"

He laughs. "I was eight."

"Oh, Robin," she laughs. "Eight?"

He nods. "My nanny needed fabric for… something, and she took me along. I think it was her day off, but I was practically permanently adhered to her hip, so she didn't have much of a choice. She told me if I was good and didn't get in the way, she'd buy me candy."

"And did that work?"

"Like a charm," he says, grinning as his eyes sparkle. "You were at the candy store. I remember you were wearing a purple dress and your hair was in braids and-"

"Tied with purple ribbons."

"Yes."

"I loved that dress. My father had it made for me. It was the first dress I ever got to go into town and have fitted."

"You were, by far, the prettiest girl I'd ever laid eyes on," he tells her. "Your father bent down to give you something-"

"Lemon drops. He always got me lemon drops."

Robin grins. "You kissed his cheek, and I told my nanny I'd found the girl I was going to marry."

At that, her eyes widen. "What?"

"I did."

She laughs-she can't help it. It seems too perfect, too fated-like something out of a storybrooke. "You told your nanny you were going to marry me when we were eight?"

"I did, indeed," he tells her. "And then I spent then next, what… fifteen years or so, trying to figure out how to talk to you."

"Seventeen."

"Oh," he frowns. "That… somehow makes it a bit more pathetic."

"It's anything but, and there were breaks in there."

"Yes, there were," she says, her cheeks flushing a little as her heart flutters. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you finally worked up that nerve, even if it did take all those years."

"Well, to be fair, I worked up the nerve to talk to your father and-"

"And you forgave my bad reaction to your proposal."

"It was understandable," he admits. "And you've never needed my forgiveness for anything. You've done nothing that needs forgiving."

She nods, understanding they're not just talking about the proposal-and again, she feels a rush of emotion, wondering what it was she ever did to deserve a husband so kind-hearted and understanding. Her eyes cast down and she blinks back her tears, not wanting them to spoil this day-and to her surprise, Robin reaches across the table, and takes her hand, giving it a reassuring little squeeze.

He stands up and tugs her up. He grabs the jar of pickles and the jug of ale, and leads her over to the window seat. Together, they settle there. He plucks a volume of poems from the shelf and it seems every one of them is about a tree. Though poems aren't of any particular interest to her, his voice is soft, his arms feel nice around her, and the sun warms them-and as she closes her eyes and sips the ale, she decides that choosing to be happy might be easier than she ever imagined it could be.

She knew, of course, that this day was merely a temporary reprieve. But regardless of that, she's glad for it-and she's glad for him. Glad to have found acceptance and love, glad to know that no matter what is thrown at her in the days and weeks to come, she won't have to weather it alone-that Robin will be there with her, unwavering in his support

And she knows, more than ever, she's going to need it.


	27. Chapter 27

Robin's fingers laced down through Regina's as her head fell to his shoulder. Slowly, they made their way from the stables to the house, in absolutely no hurry to get back.

He wasn't sure how the day was going to go since he'd planned most of it on a whim.

They spent the day at his mother's cottage–playing games and reading poetry, talking and eating and sipping on ale. It'd gone better than anticipated–but that was usually the case when it was just the two of them, and in the back of his head, he found himself considering the possibility that the worst might actually be behind them.

Of course, that would require a difficult conversation with his father and rely on his father's mood. The will itself didn't matter much to him, though his father would likely get red-faced and loud as he blustered on about Robin's obligations to the estate and the steps put in place to assure his inheritance–but the tight grip Richard held on the _rules_ would be what allowed him to break them. After all, he didn't have another heir. There wasn't another son who could inherit; and no matter what, when he died, everything would pass on to Robin anyway–it was just the interim that might be a bit uncomfortable.

For a while, that had been a motivator. He didn't much care where he lived–be it at Sherwood or in a room above the pub in town or a cottage in the woods. He cared even less about the money or his place in society, and already, he felt best on the outskirts where he was left to observe from afar. But then Roland was born, and Roland's comfort mattered.

Then he married Regina, and with her came Henry–and they too, mattered.

Playing the part of the agent of the estate he was meant to inherit was practical, and by doing it, he learned a great deal about its complicated inner workings; but he'd also learned a great deal about the tenants and the lives they led, about farm work and managing businesses, and there were times when he left the cozy cottages of the families who lived on and worked for Sherwood that he found himself a bit envious.

Their lives were simpler, in some ways.

They didn't have the money that he did, but they had enough to live comfortably. He wasn't ignorant to their struggles–and any misconceptions he had about the hardships of what life was like for members of the lower classes were undone when he properly met Regina–but they only had to worry about themselves and their families. There was a freedom in that, not to be bound by legacies and rules, and more and more, he found that he admired it.

The freedom to choose to leave was one he was particularly interested in–more specifically the thought of his life not being tied to an estate, and he realized it was something that had been on his mind before Regina even came into his life.

The estate was always complicated.

His father hadn't inherited it neatly, and his grandfather was never meant to have it at all. Once, there'd been a title attached to Sherwood–a lordship–and the actual estate had been much larger. He never paid much attention to the actual details of that–and though he'd likely been told time and time again when he was a boy, the details of it bored him to tears. Whenever his father talked about the estate, he'd find himself staring out of a nearby window, watching the trees on the horizon and wishing he were outside climbing them rather than watching them from afar. But from what he did remember–snippets of a story he'd had to piece together on his own when he became the estate's agent on his twentieth birthday–the splitting of the larger estate had been steeped in controversy.

In an uncharacteristic move, the last Lord of Nottinghamshire split the land between his children–a son who was meant to inherit it all, and a daughter who was his favorite child. The daughter never married–and he now wondered if that was a choice or a stipulation that went along with her inheritance. The son went on have several children, but only one child survived those first few years–and that child grew up to be Cora Mills. The details there were murky, at best, and though he could ask, he couldn't imagine this was the sort of thing Cora shared much of with Regina when she was a child. But from what he did know, Cora had been determined to reunite the estate and felt it was her right to inherit it all.

And she would have, had his grandfather not come along.

The details there are murky too, but his grandfather became something of a confidant–what that meant, he still didn't know–to Cora's aunt and when she died, she left the estate to his grandfather.

That had been quite the scandal–and as determined as Cora was to reclaim what she felt was rightfully hers, his father clamped down onto the portion of the estate that he believed was his, and like Cora, as the years passed he seemed more and more obsessed with expanding the estate, and claiming more of Cora's portion.

"Do you think I'll be able to get away with sneaking up the nursery and having tea with the boys?"

Robin blinks, considering it. "I don't see why not. It's not like we have plans nor desire to have tea with my father–and please, don't take this the wrong way, but I am fairly certain he wouldn't want us to."

"Trust me," Regina scoffs, "I am under no misconceptions about how your father feels about me."

"Well–"

"I'd just… really like to avoid…" Regina stops and draws in a breath, shifting as she releases it. "Well, everyone, really. But particularly Zelena."

"If she's even still at Sherwood."

"I can't imagine why she wouldn't be."

Robin's brow furrows. "Well, she doesn't live here, for starters."

"That's never mattered."

Turning his head, he looks to her and her eyes widen a little as she lifts her head. "What?"

"This is… what she does," Regina says simply. "It's what her mother did, too."

"I'm… not quite…"

Drawing in a breath once more, Regina looks to him and shrugs. "I… didn't tell you about this?"

"I don't think so."

"Zelena is my cousin… well, sort of."

"You're _related_?"

"Yes, though, it's a bit distantly now, and… not legally so."

"Not legally–"

"Somewhere along the way, my grandfather–that's my mother's father–had a mistress. They had a baby, and though, he provided financially for them and everyone knew, he never legally recognized the baby as his own. They said she was an orphan or… a cousin or something, and though she should have inherited something, she didn't or it wasn't very much–and I'm _sure_ my mother has something to do with that."

"She seems the type."

"Right," Regina says, nodding. "She died when she had Zelena and her father was poor, and… and I'm not sure _how_ it happened, but she ended up spending a lot of time at Dragon Head." Her brow furrows. "I'd… I'd never really considered why and it doesn't seem like my mother to allow that, but when I was fourteen, her father died and she came to live with us."

"Zelena lived at Dragon Head?"

"Yes and, for a while, we were quite close." At that, her eyes roll. "I shared everything with her, and… told her everything."

"Ah–"

"I just… didn't realize my secrets weren't safe with her." Robin nods, but before he can even think to ask a question about that time in her life, Regina shrugs and pushes on. "I… don't know what happened after I left, but when I returned to Dragon Head, Zelena wasn't living there anymore."

"Well, she was engaged to Jefferson, perhaps the Hatfields–"

"Maybe," Regina murmurs. "But by then, she'd broken things off with him."

"They could have paid her for her… um… silence, given what he did."

Regina blinks. "What he did with me."

"Regina, that's not–"

"I know," Regina sighs. "But I've given her reason to hate me."

"It sounds like she might've already had something against you when it happened–and when it happened, it wasn't your fault. You weren't trying to hurt her. You weren't–"

"Regardless of my intentions, I knew who Jefferson was and… what I was doing."

"Regina–"

"You don't have to defend me. I'm just… just saying that… she has reasons to not like me." She pauses for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if she's considering something, as if she's hesitating, and then, in almost a burst, she speaks. "Zelena isn't as virtuous as she'd have everyone believe."

Looking at her, his brows arch. "What?"

"She… um…" Her voice trails off and her eyes press closed. "I shouldn't say this. Of course, none of this can be proved and she'd swear up and down that none of it's true. So, really, I shouldn't…"

"Regina, she had no issue ruining you. Besides, if _you_ confide something in _me_ , I've no reason not to believe you're spreading rumors or telling lies. You don't need _proof_ with me. Your word is good enough."

For a moment, she considers it, and then, she nods. "Do you remember… um, oh, what was his name?"

She stops, trying to remember as he stares at her with nothing to offer, still reeling from the fact that the woman who's been so cruel to her was not only once a friend, but a relative and that she's entangled in a scandal of her own.

"Sir Percy Blakeney's uncle, um… _damn_ it." She offers him a frustrated sigh. "Regardless of what his name was, he was always hanging around parties, trying to get pretty girls to sneak into dark rooms and–"

"Sounds like quite the ass–"

Regina nods. "Well, Zelena didn't think so. She was one of the girls who followed him into dark rooms."

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her. Somehow, he hadn't expected that–and he's not quite sure how to process it.

"That's… sort of what she does," Regina explains. "It's what her mother did, and I think in someway, she's looking for a place or… something."

"A place with… rich old men."

"Well, Jefferson isn't old–"

"Or rich."

"Though I wonder if Jefferson wasn't the Mr. Hatfield she was initially interested in." She pauses a little–and he can tell there's something about this conversation that she enjoys–like she's been dying to discuss this, but never had an audience for it. "The prince that I was supposed to marry–"

"The one from Bavaria–"

"Yes," she nods. "He was considerably older than me and… and I think Zelena liked him."

"You mean…"

"She, um… she likes the old, wrinkly ones," Regina tells him, giggling softly as his face scrunches up like she's smelled something foul. "I think her hope is if she finds one of them who will marry her, they'll die and leave her everything and she can live the life she's always wanted."

He blinks, his thoughts still lingering on the prince–a man he'd never seen before, but in his head was decidedly overweight and sloppy, who smelled of stale beer and sauerkraut. "And what life is that?"

"The life of an heiress–a real heiress, not the one she pretends to be."

"Ah–"

And then, the grin fades from her lips as worry clouds her eyes. "I'd imagine that's her interest in your father."

For a moment, he considers it and finds himself nodding. "That makes more sense than anything else I've considered."

"Does that worry you? Knowing a fortune hunter is after your father–and therefore, after your inheritance."

"Not particularly."

At that, she seems surprised. "You don't worry that Zelena is going to swoop in and steal what's meant to be yours?"

"No," he says, easily, offering a hearty laugh. "First, my father put a stranglehold on the money and property. I don't think even he can change his own will at this point, and secondly," he says, his voice turning almost musical and he grins and gives her hand a little squeeze. "I… might've made some investments on my own."

"Have you?" She blinks, again, looking surprised. "You've never mentioned it."

"I wanted to make sure that it worked out before–"

"You make me meet with you weekly to talk about taxes and crop rotations and–"

"I don't _make_ you."

Rolling her eyes, her chin tips upward. "Well, when you suggested it, I didn't know that I could say no."

"Well, you can."

"It's too late now."

"Is it?" he asks, arching a brow at her. "Or do you like talking about taxes and crop rotations and profits?"

Again her eyes roll. "That isn't the point."

"Then what is?"

"That you didn't tell me."

"I didn't want you to think you'd married a failure," he tells her, almost honestly–not quite wanting to admit that he'd made the investments shortly after their marriage when he wrote Henry into his will, not wanting to admit that he wasn't entirely sure if Henry _could_ inherit. Of course, there wasn't a rule that said he couldn't, but he didn't trust his father or the estate's lawyer not to make one up, especially given who Henry's grandmother was and how angry his father had been when he'd announced his intention to marry Regina and once again link the two estates. "I wanted to make sure things panned out before you knew."

"And… things have panned out?"

"Better than I could've imagined."

For a moment a silence falls between them as they walk toward Sherwood–and he intentionally remains coy about his investment and how much he's profited off of it. Regina's waiting, and he knows that she is–and he reasons, as long as she's thinking about that, she'll be distracted enough to not think about what awaits her at Sherwood.

"You're… not going to tell me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Well, you see, it's not Monday, and we talk about these sorts of matters on Monday when–"

"Robin!"

"I will say that we might have a better means of traveling up to the hunting lodge in the coming years." Her eyes narrow, and he can see that she has no idea what he's talking about–which means a slew of questions are about to be thrust upon him. So, before she can get the first one out, he gives her hand another squeeze and tugs her to him, kissing her cheek before changing the subject. "The point is if Zelena wants to distract my father, I see no reason to stop her. It just means he'll be paying less attention to me and you, and I can't see a negative in that."

"Aside from her being around all of the time."

"It's a big house. We could go days without seeing her."

"That's… not entirely true."

"Isn't it? Have you seen her today?"

"Well, no, but–"

He doesn't let her finish. Instead, he circles around her, standing in front of her as his arms link around her waist and before she can question what he's doing, he's kissing her. Her lips are soft and warm and taste like the ale they drank–and for just a little longer, they're able to enjoy the idyllic little bubble in which they've spent their day.

Robin chuckles softly as Henry pulls up a fifth chair and plops his dragon into the seat that's now positioned between his own and Roland–and Mal shakes her head as she moves the kettle to the table.

He watches as Regina looks around the room–a room that was obviously set up in their absence.

It's arranged with a hodgepodge of eclectic furniture–likely things Mal found in the attics–but it has a warmth to it that he likes. Each of the boys has a desk and a chair over by one of the large windows that looks out over the estate's grounds. There's a sofa in front of the hearth and a great area rugs with a basket of toys on it, and a set of table and chairs for them to take their tea and eat their meals. Each boy has a bookshelf lined with both favorite stories and school books, and their art hangs in heavy frames as though painted by Della Francesca or perhaps the more modern Pissarro.

The boys seem proud of the room, and when Regina asked when and why she'd chosen to set it up and how Richard had responded to it, Mal's shoulders squared as she explained that if the senior Mr. Locksley had an issue with it, she didn't care. She had a job to do–a job she took very seriously. After all, if she was intended to turn their boys into gentlemen, they needed a space to learn to be gentlemen; and the sitting room she'd set up was meant for exactly that. It was a place they could study, a place where they could take tea and learn to entertain–and apparently, their very first guest was Henry's dragon.

Without missing a beat, Mal set a spot for him, pouring him tea as if he actually might drink it–and then, before anyone could say anymore about it, Belle was entering the room and looking uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she says, looking directly to Regina. "But it appears that, um… your parents are here."

"My parents–"

"Grandpapa!" Henry exclaims, his whole face lighting up as he looks to Roland. "Grandpapa is here."

"Your mother is–"

Regina's eyes press closed. "Asking for me."

"Yes," Belle saying, nodding with regret. "She's waiting in the drawing room."

"And Grandpapa?"

"Heading up now."

The boys squeal as Regina groans–and as she rises up, Robin finds himself rising, too. Eyeing him, she shakes her head and draws in a breath before shifting her focus to Belle. "I suppose she's… angry?"

"Well, she didn't say, exactly, but–" Belle grimaces. "She's already scared off the scullery maid who was fixing the fire."

Regina sighs and nods, resigned to her mother's wrath–and then, as she moves toward the door, she offers the boys an easy smile as she asks them to save her a scone to have later on with her tea.

Robin's stomach churns as Regina disappears–and then, a moment later, her father's head peeks in through the door and both boys run to him. A little smile tugs up onto his lips as Regina's father stoops down, letting both boys crash into him before lifting them into his arms. He kisses them each and takes them to the sofa by the hearth, and he laughs a little as Mal sighs and wistfully says maybe they'll have a proper tea tomorrow.

Henry and Roland tell him all about their day in the stables–how they got to feed and brush Henry's horse, and how Mal taught them all about how to put on the saddle and the bridal, and Henry beams as he tells his grandfather he even got to mount the horse and sit on the saddle. Henry and Roland both nod along as their grandfather explains that they'll have to always listen to Mal and her instructions when they're in the stables so that they don't get hurt, and they're lucky to have her. Both boys agree and Henry Sr. goes on to explain that Mal is such a good teacher because she grew up in the stables at Dragon Head–and he feels his heart clench a little when Henry doesn't make the connection to his own father who grew up alongside her there.

"Henry didn't get to ride?" Robin asks, looking to Mal.

"No," she confirms, looking to Henry a bit wistfully. "I thought Regina might like to be there for that."

"I'm sure she would," he agrees, looking toward the door and thinking of his Regina and Cora, and how their _discussion_ is going–and that's when his father-in-law catches his gaze.

He murmurs something that only Mal catches, and she nods as extends her hands to the boys, and a bit reluctantly, they take them, letting her lead them out of the room.

"She'll be alright," Henry says once Mal and the boys are out of earshot. "She's more resilient than you realize."

"I just wish she didn't have to be."

"Of course you do."

"It's not fair, you know–"

"None of it is," Henry sighs. "But Regina has more control in this than you realize–probably more control than even she realizes."

Robin watches as his father-in-law gets up, and his eyes narrow as he watches him look around the newly decorated room. "But it _is_ fair to say that the reason for your visit is… um… because you've… heard."

"Yes," Henry confirms, looking to him. "From our butler."

"Ah–and, uh, you… knew the whole time?"

He watches as Henry moves to the table, looking down at his grandson's dragon as he sits idly, waiting for the tea that will not be served. "I did," he tells him, reaching for the dragon and plucking him up from the chair. "Regina and I… didn't talk about it–"

"No, of course not."

"It's not the sort of thing a woman discusses with her father."

"Right–"

"But I knew, and she knew that I knew."

"I see."

"But as I said, it was more about control than anything else," he says as he sits down where the dragon had once been seated and holds the stuffed toy in his lap. "Control brings comfort."

Robin's eyes narrow. "It doesn't feel like she's in control," Robin tells him. "Things just keep happening _to_ her and she's left to react."

"Not where Cora's concerned."

"No?" he asks, thinking of the way Regina tenses in her mother's presence, thinking of the way she seems to live with her mother's voice in her head, thinking of the way she fears further disappointing her and being used and made to do things and–

"No," Henry says, cutting in and interrupting his thought. "The day you married Regina, something shifted between her and her mother. Cora needs to stay in Regina's good graces, as much as she can, otherwise, she'd never survive the embarrassment that would be selling Dragon Head and living off the money."

Robin's eyes narrow and he suddenly feels uncomfortable. His father-in-law's financial ruin was at his own father's hand, and he's not entirely sure what Henry knows of the investment that went so awry. "I… realize the allowance I've set aside for you and–"

"It is more generous than it should be," Henry says, cutting in once more. "And Cora knows it."

"And I assume she also knows, um… what happened here last night?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm surprised she wasn't here first thing in the morning."

"She blustered on and on about it and, trust me, she wanted to be here, but, alas… she needed time to figure out what to say and how to say it and…" He laughs a little as he sighs. "I don't think she ever really settled on that. I think she's in there, winging it."

"Somehow, that sounds… even more frightening."

"Maybe," Henry admits. "But Regina's tough, and at the end of it, there isn't a damn thing Cora can do."

"There isn't much Regina can do, either… and she didn't seem so tough last night."

"She can keep her head up, that's what she can do," Henry says, his voice cracking slightly as he looks away. "This will blow over. Just like everything else. It'll… soon be forgotten."

Robin nods, hoping that's true. "She… wants to hide."

"Don't let her. That's what she did when she returned to Dragon Head, and… it… left her in a bad place."

"I'm sure it was better than–"

"Where she was?" he asks, cutting in with a sigh. "In some ways, yes. But in other ways, it… it just broke her." A little grin tugs onto his lips. "But there's a difference between then and now."

"Oh?"

"You." Robin blinks as his eyes meet his father-in-law's. "You married her, and no matter what anyone says around here–in this house, in the village, at Dragon Head–that matters."

"Does it?"

"Of course it does," Henry says, his voice firm and full of conviction–enough conviction to make Robin believe what he's saying is the truth. "You see, no matter what anyone thinks of her, no matter what anyone says about her, at the end of the day your opinion is the only one that matters–for Regina, and for everyone else." Robin's eyes narrow as he listens. "You see, she's in control because you are. You own it all. Everyone who lives and works here can do so because you allow it."

"Well, my father–"

"Is the past. You're the future," Henry says simply. "No one cares that they _used to_ have a roof over their heads, they care that they're _still going to_ have a roof over their head."

He nods as he considers it.

He hadn't quite thought of what is father-in law was suggesting. Sherwood and everything around was his father's, not his, and he'd never quite taken ownership of it. He'd never liked to use his position as one of power, and he'd never seen himself as more important than anyone else–though from a young age that was exactly what his father told him. He'd never fully been comfortable with what would come once the estate was actually his, once he assumed the role his father held, and more than anything he'd seen it as a burden.

He'd always thought that when he inherited the estate he's lose his freedom. He'd be surrounded with people of his father's choosing–and never once had he seen it as an opportunity to surround himself with people of his own choosing.

"I'm not saying to toss out anyone who says anything unkind about my daughter. I'm just–"

"Why not?" Robin asks. "That seems like a good way to shut people up."

"It'll die down. The storm won't last forever. People will find something else to think about and talk about… especially when they see that you're not turning your back on her."

"Ah–"

"That is your intent, isn't it?"

"I could never push her away or–"

"That's what I assume. I just–"

"Wanted to be sure?"

Henry nods, his eyes pressing closed as he sighs. "She's made such progress since you married her, you know that?" Robin blinks, thinking of the skittish woman he'd brought to Sherwood as his new wife. "She smiles and laughs, she makes eye-contact…"

"I've noticed."

"When she came back to Sherwood, she was… a shell of the girl who left." Shaking his head, his eyes open. "I was proud of that girl–the girl who followed her heart and ran away, the girl who didn't care what anyone thought or said, the girl who knew what she wanted from life and made sure she got it–and lately, I've seen that girl again. She's isn't there all of the time, though. But she's coming 'round and…" He draws in a breath. "I've missed her."

"I'd like to keep her around, too."

"I figured as much." He offers a tight smile. "So, like I said… just… make sure she keeps her head up, make sure she feels like she's in control of this?"

Before he can reply, his father-in-law sighs.

"I feel like I'm full of contradictions today."

"How so?"

"I don't mean to make this sound like a threat or–"

"I haven't taken it that way."

"And obviously, you can't control–" He stops. "I worry about her. Constantly, I worry. But since she married you, I've had a lot less worrying to do." Henry's face soften. "You saved her once. I just hope–"

"I see it the other way," Robin says, cutting in as he smiles. "She saved me. She gave me purpose and a path, got me out of my head and made me see the world around me, and realize the sort of man I want to be… and… the sort of man I don't."

"Your father."

"He falls into the _don't_ category."

Henry's eyes narrow and it looks like there's something he wants to say, but no words come–and once more, he's left to wonder what his father-in-law knows about how he lost his fortune and why he lost it.

"Go easy on him," he says eventually. "Go easy and… cut him some slack. People aren't always who they appear to be." It's not at all what he expected to hear, and he scoffs at it. "I'm serious," he says, his voice suddenly firm and filled with same conviction he heard in it earlier. "He's rough around the edges and sometimes misguided, but… he's…"

"He's been terrible to your daughter."

"That's not about her," Henry says, shaking his head. "He's… casting his feelings about her mother onto her."

At that, he's a bit taken aback. "But that doesn't make it–"

"Fair? No. You're right there," Henry sighs. "But he has reasons not to trust my wife, and so he thinks he has reasons not to trust the girl she raised."

"But, Regina's nothing like her mother."

"She isn't, that's true," Henry says, smiling. "But your father doesn't know that."

"He could if he tried."

"Well, you know how the saying goes–an old dog can't be taught new tricks."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"That's semantics," Henry tells him. "And I don't think–"

He's interrupted by a loud and shrill sound that's something between a shriek and a sigh, and then a door slams, sending a vibration up the wall and rattling the windows.

"Ah," he sighs, slowly rising up from the chair. "It appears my wife is ready to leave." Robin's eyes widen as Henry calmly sets his grandson's stuffed animal back on the chair. "I think I'll go and check on my daughter, then take a lap or two around the estate and–"

"Given the volume of her voice and fervor in her treatment of the door, I highly doubt she's going to wait."

He grins. "That's the idea."

"You… want to be left here?"

He shrugs. "If she leaves me, I can walk–"

"That's _miles_ away. You can't–"

"I can go to the pub. Drink and have a meal that does not include the icy silence that replaces conversation in my home, and… maybe… I'll take a room for the night." He grins, drawing in a breath and breathing out a sigh of relief. "And… let her turn her rage on me instead of Regina."

"But, she'll have been the one to leave you. I don't–"

"Don't try to understand it. It's better if you don't." Again, he grins. "It's a win-win, really–I get a break, and then resume my role as a buffer."

"That sounds miserable for you."

He shrugs dismissively, resigned to it. "It's my penance for saddling my daughter with Cora for a mother."

"Well, that was hardly your choice."

Again, he gets that look in his eye like there's something he wants to say, but instead, he chuckles softly to himself. "Now, I'd appreciate you not telling anyone about my plans. I'd hardly like Cora to know I found myself in a cozy room with good food and drink. I'd much rather let her half believe I wandered through the woods eating berries and bark." He grins, his eyes shining as he winks. "That's more embarrassing for her, and… that's much more enjoyable for me–and when I think of it, that story sounds far more enjoyable than a carriage ride with a pissed off Cora."

"Well, I'm glad you can find refuge at the pub, then. It looks like it's going to rain."

Henry nods to him and he rises up from the table, seeing him out of the sitting room–and then as he turns back into the room, he spots his father walking arm-in-arm across the lawn. He takes a few steps forward, craning his neck for a better view, and for the first time, the sight of them fills them with a sense of worry as he considers what Regina told him, leaving him to wonder what Zelena's motives really are, and how entangled in it his father really is.

Regina stands at the window, her arms folded over her chest, watching as her mother's carriage pulls away. Drawing in a breath, she pushes her eyes closed, and tries to silence her mother's voice, trying to stop the words still tumbling through her head.

 _Reckless._

 _Embarrassment._

 _Disappointment._

 _Shameful._

She'd just stood there and taken it. She didn't have another option because she didn't know what to say or do–mostly because there wasn't anything she could say or do. Nothing would change her mother's mind, nothing would change her opinion of her. She'd heard it all before–the first time Cora caught her kissing Daniel, when she found them together in a more vulnerable position, when she found out she was pregnant with Henry, and again when she'd returned home in disgrace from Dragon Head with her young son in tow–this time wasn't different. It was all the same, a repeat and rehashing of her past sins, and something she couldn't really defend.

So, she didn't.

She let her rage stomp, she let her yell and say terrible things, and as she stared a spot on the wall and struggled against her tears, she tried to silence the little voice in her head that told her that her mother was right.

"Don't do it." Her eyes fly open and she spins around to her father looming in the doorway. "Don't let her get to you."

Blinking, she looks back to the window and then back to her father. "You're… supposed to be…" She shakes her head. "I thought you left."

"My carriage left. I stayed."

"Something tells me you weren't given the option."

"I… chose not to take it." He grins, "I've spent enough time in close quarters with your mother."

"But–"

"I'll find my way."

"I'm sure someone here could–"

He shakes his head and her voice fades. "It's a nice evening, and I think I'd like to walk." A little grin edges onto his lips as he pushes into the room. "There's a stool in the pub calling to me, anyway."

Regina frowns. "I feel like I've forced you out."

"How so? You've done nothing to–"

"Daddy–"

"You mother made her choices just as you and I have," he tells her. "And her choice was to leave without me, so _my_ choice is to have an enjoyable evening away from her."

"Cause and effect."

Henry chuckles softly. "Yes."

"I, uh… I know a thing or two about that."

His grin fades. "Oh, now, come on," he sighs. "Don't do that."

"It's… simply a fact."

He nods. "Perhaps it is, but you don't need to sound so defeatist about it."

"I prefer realistic."

"Your mother's reality is _not_ reality."

"But–"

"No," he cuts in, shaking his head. "She has a warped understanding of your choices. You did what you felt you had to do and–"

"And before?"

"Well," he says, a soft smile edging onto his lips. "Well, then you were just following your heart."

"Into the bed of a man who wasn't my husband."

"Yet."

"Right."

"Those are just details," he tells her, shrugging. "You… wanted to break away from the life your mother laid out for you. I'll admit, you could have gone about it differently, and you had more options than you realize, but I don't blame you for being in hurry to get your own life started."

"Mm, and look how that turned out."

For a moment, he doesn't reply. Instead, he looks past her, his eyes shifting up to the ceiling and coasting down the silk-threaded wallpaper and engraved mahogany hearth. "Seems like it worked out just fine."

Her eyebrow arches with skepticism, but before she can argue, her father takes another step toward her and leans against the arm of a chair, and when he looks to her, he smiles.

"You have a delightful little boy–two, actually–and a husband who adores you."

"An arranged marriage–"

"That turned to love."

In spite of herself, that detail makes her smile. "That was… a gamble."

"I disagree." Again, her eyes widen. "The day Robin came to Dragon Head and told me that he wanted to marry you, I _knew_ that this was going to work out. That this was going to be good for you." A smile shines through his eyes. "I saw the way he looked at you, the way he looked at Henry, and I…" He sighs. "I took great delight in knowing that you'd be alright–and that your mother would be proven wrong."

"About my ruin?"

"About everything."

"That… was a fluke, you know?"

"No such thing." Regina scoffs, but Henry shakes his head. "You proving your mother wrong has been a great joy of mine, do you know that?"

"Well, you've never shied away from an opportunity to stick it to her." At that, he chuckles softly, but her smile fades. "And I think that's… enabled you to look the other way sometimes." His eyes narrow as she draws in a shaky breath. "At least where I'm concerned."

"You're my daughter. I'm not looking away or choosing not to see something," he tells her. "It's just… as my daughter you get infinite chances."

"To disappoint you."

"No," Henry says, his voice firm and sincere. "I know you won't believe this, Regina, but there has not been a day in your life that you've been a disappointment to me."

"I find that _incredibly_ hard to believe."

"I know you do," Henry says, his shoulders rising and falling as he draws in and releases a breath. "But that doesn't make it any less true." He pushes away from the chair, closing the gap between them and as he reaches her, he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Keep your head up. You have everything you need to see you through."

He pulls back and offers a wink, and once more she releases a shaky breath, thoughts swimming through her head, but no words coming forth.

"Now, there's a stool at the pub calling my name, and a plate of pot roast I'm dying to eat."

"Y-you're sure you don't want someone to take you?"

"It isn't a long walk, and I venture it'll soon be too cold to even try–and you should go and enjoy your family."

She nods. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry… for… well… all of this."

"You've no reason to apologize to me."

She shrugs. "Don't I? You're avoiding going home because mother is mad at me. That sounds like reason to apologize."

At that, her father laughs. "Let me tell you a little secret, my darling girl." He leans in a little and his voice drops. "More times than not, I find myself picking petty fights with her simply so I can storm off and spend a night or two at the pub. You've only done me a favor," he tells her as he pulls back, once more offering a wink. "Though I do wish it didn't come at your expense."

Sighing, she nods and watches him go, watching from the window as he makes his way across the cobblestone path the will take him away from Sherwood and to the main road, and eventually into town and to the pub–and when she can no longer see her father, she turns away from the window to find Robin standing in the doorway. Without saying anything, he opens his arms to her, and without hesitation, she crosses the room and steps into them. He folds his arms around her, holding her and, though she knows it won't last, the voice in her head is finally silenced.

They return upstairs to the sitting room where they find their sons, waiting with Mal, and a pot of water warming on the fire. The boys are cleaner than they were before–their hair freshly brushed and their outfits changed and the buckles on their shoes shined.

Mal cleared her throat and gave them each a little nudge, and Henry stepped forward, pulling out a chair for his mother. Regina practically melted as she took a seat, her eyes shifting to Robin as he sat down beside her. Roland joined Henry, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands as he explained that a proper gentleman should know how to serve tea to his guests–and then he grinned brightly as he unnecessarily added that they were his guests.

She watches as Roland sets out the cups and saucers. He moves carefully–almost painfully so–first placing every saucer, then cradling the cup as he set it at the middle of the tiny plate. Mal helps Henry with the kettle, bringing it over to the table and helping him to put it in the center on a large, blue and gold tile that matched the simple, striped design on the cups and saucers. By the time Roland adds the spoons to each setting, Henry had already had the tea chest out. Holding her breath, she watches as Henry opens it and reaches for the kettle at the center of the table, filling each of the cups. He grins proudly as he does so, not spilling any water on the table and Regina breathes out a sigh of relief when he doesn't spill any of the steaming, hot water on himself.

"I cut the lemons," Roland tells them, beaming proudly as he flops down into the chair. "Do you want some?" Regina nods, though she doesn't particularly like lemon in her tea, unless she's sick, and Robin does the same. "They're very sour," Roland tells them. "So be careful and _don't_ suck on them."

At that, Henry giggles as he fills a tea infuser for each of them. "We made biscuits, too."

"Did you?"

"Uh huh," he murmurs, nodding as he focuses on the last tea infuser. "But I burned them and they smelled funny." Sighing, he slides into the empty seat at the table. "Then Roland ate four out of the second batch, so Mal said we couldn't have more with our tea."

Roland looks up guiltily. "I burned my tongue." Henry's eyes roll, but both she and Robin laugh. "The raisins were _especially_ hot."

"That happens."

"I told you they would be," Henry says as he looks to her and Robin. "I did."

"He did," Mal confirms. "Mishaps and all, I don't think it was a bad first attempt."

"I thought even the burned ones smelled good," Roland tells them.

"And since there were only two left, I figured it'd be a nice after-dinner treat… though they were supposed to be for tea."

"I think we'll live," Robin says, chuckling as Mal surveys the table. "Do you… want to join us? Sit down for a bit and… unwind?"

"Oh, no," Mal says, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"Mal, of course you can," Regina insists. "Sit."

Mal's eyes narrow as she looks between them. "I… was actually hoping I could use this time to go and wash off the smell of horse."

"Ah–"

"That is probably a good use of time."

"The stables did _not_ smell good," Roland tells them, frowning. "One of the horses pooped on my shoe."

Henry giggles. "That's why Mal told us to stand _next to_ the horses when we brush them. Not _behind_ them."

"I wanted to brush his tail," Roland explains. "I didn't think _that_ would happen."

"What did you think _would_ happen?" Henry asks–and they all laugh as Roland's brow crumples in confusion.

Roland's face scrunches. "Not that."

"Why, um… why don't we move on to another topic," Mal suggests from across the room. " _Any_ other topic."

Henry launches into a story about feeding the horse. He talks about the horse's obvious preference for carrots and thinks that maybe that's what he'll name him. Roland chimes in to add that the horse's nose tickles and that his tongue was rough–and when he complains that Henry had a horse to brush and pet and feed, and maybe even ride soon, Robin chuckles softly and reminds him that he will, too, when he's seven and until then, he should learn all he can from his brother's lessons.

Regina's brows arch as Roland offers a placated grin, and Robin leans in, whispering to her that he's just making it up as he goes. Then, he reasons that it seems like a nice tradition to start–and when she tries to protest, she can't quite think of anything to say or any real reason that she should–and when Roland notices her lack of argument, his smile brightens and she can see him practically trying to count the days until his seventh birthday.

At some point, Mal slips away, likely in search of a few minutes of quiet time, leaving her and Robin alone with the boys. It's just the four of them in the cozy little room, and she finds as she eases back into her seat, how content she is just sitting back and watching as Robin talks to the boys. She loves watching him like this–in father-mode and so completely focused on their young sons. He listens to them and asks them questions, patiently waiting for their replies.

They finish tea and move over to the hearth where a warm fire is burning and candles surround the sofa. Robin settles on the carpet with the boys to play a game of Nine Men Morris while she peruzes the bookshelf and looks at the art–and by the time the game is set up, she finds herself smiling wistfully and wondering if, perhaps, everything really will be alright, that maybe the storm's been contained and the worst of the fallout of her scandalous secret was all in her head.

Before they can even think of it, Mal returns with their dinners on a tray–and she tells herself that it doesn't mean anything when the footman who accompanies Mal and helps to set up the table doesn't make eye contact. Robin offers for Mal to join then, but she turns down the offer, explaining she has a bowl of lamb stew and some old letters she'd like to go through before coming to collect the boys and get them ready for bed–and before Regina can cut in and tell her she doesn't have to clean them up or put them to bed, she reminds her that it's her job. Robin pulls out a chair for her as Mal grins and says she's welcome back for storytime, and then as she sits down at the table, she looks to the boys and replies that she'd never consider missing storytime because it's the best part of her day–and that earns a smile from both Henry and Roland.

When dinner is done, she and Robin once again settle on the carpet in front of the fire. They play a few more games of Nine Men Morris–this time in teams, her and Henry versus Robin and Roland–and then they switch to a game of gleek. She sits this one out, deciding to help Roland instead of playing for herself, and they play the card game until both boys' eyes are droopy.

Robin puts away the games as she lifts Roland up onto her hip and takes Henry by the hand–and once more, she can't help but think that this day hasn't been at all the way she thought it'd be, and aside from being torn to shreds by her mother, she's actually found herself at ease–and again, as she walks toward the nursery, she finds herself thinking that maybe the worst is really behind her.

Robin tucks away the games in one of the cabinets, and as he returns back to the sofa in front of the fire place, he finds himself lingering by the mantle. He picks up the little music box that had once belonged to his mother–a treasure his son has discovered tucked away in the attic–and as he winds it up, he presses his eyes closed and listens to the mechanical sound of the song he couldn't quite place, but knows by heart.

He tugs on the cord that would ring down in the servants quarters, and sighs at the realization that it won't be John who answers the call, but a footman who he neither knows nor trusts. Sighing again, he moves back to the soft and closes his eyes, settling back and drawing in a breath, finally feeling just how tired he is.

He smiles to himself as he listens to the song play, glad that Mal had thought to set up this sitting room while they were away, and though it was meant for a place for the boys to study, he can't help but think it's the perfect space for family time–a place where he and Regina could spend time with their sons without listening to his father's huffed sighs and icy glares.

Eventually, his thoughts shift to his father, and to the conversation he had with both Regina and then to the one he had with her father. Their words swim around in his head as he considers what Zelena was really after and what his father's intentions were when it came to her–and he felt oddly conflicted.

He didn't care about the inheritance; he has money of his own.

But he cares.

Even though he hates his father for the way he treated Regina.

He hadn't always noticed that side of him–and though they'd never quite seen eye-to-eye, he was never cruel as he was when it came to her. He'd been surprised by it, at first, but by the time they married, it'd become something of a new normal–and the divide between him and his father only grew. The redeeming qualities he once saw faded, and it made him angry to think that, perhaps, his father could be a willing participant in whatever con Zelena was running.

And though he didn't care for how that would affect him, he did care about how it would affect his sons.

At some point the music stops, but he can't quite bring himself to open his eyes–and as the door to the sitting room opens, he draws in a breath and asks the footman to bring him a glass of bourbon.

The footman doesn't reply, though–and while that seems odd, he doesn't think much of it.

Until he feels a thin hand slip over his shoulder and the scent of a perfume that wasn't Regina's surrounding him.

His eyes fly open as he jumps up from the couch, spinning around to see Zelena standing behind the sofa. Her blue eyes are wide and wild, and she's wearing the sort of smile that makes him uneasy and when he spouts out a confused _what the hell?_ , her smile only twists tighter.

"You seem startled."

"I am," he deadpans. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you?"

His face scrunches in disgust. "Why?"

"Well, I was thinking that… maybe…" Her voice trails off and she giggles, and when she takes a step toward him, he finds himself instinctively taking a step back. "Don't be so shy."

"I'm not shy," he tells her. "I just don't want to be near you."

"Why?" she asks, her voice sounding chillingly innocent. "What are you afraid of?" Again, she steps in as he takes another step back. "That you won't be able to resist?"

"Hardly."

Zelena giggles mancially. "So, you admit it then. You want me as much as I want you."

"If that means _not at all_ , then I suppose you could say that," he tells her, feeling the heat from the fire on the back of his legs, and knowing he can't move back anymore. "Zelena, I–"

"Your father is a lovely man with many _wonderful_ qualities," Zelena explained, "But sometimes, I… I miss the _exuberance_ of a younger man."

His stomach lurches at the thought of Zelena and his father being intimate. "Well, you're looking in the wrong place."

"I don't think I am," she tells him, closing the gap between them. "And I just figured, since I like the classic version so much, I wonder what the younger version is like."

He swallows hard, struggling against his gag reflex and the urge to shove a woman–and once more, his stomach lurches as Zelena reaches out and walks two fingers up his chest. "It'd be ill advised for you to continue this," he tells her, his voice low and his anger building. "I–"

"You called for–"

Zelena whirls around at the sound of the footman's voice, and he takes the opportunity to free himself, quickly moving back to the center of the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asks indignantly, his eyes shifting to Robin. "I…I mean…"

"I was… just wondering that myself," he replies, his eyes narrowing as he looks to Zelena–who grins and offers a wink before completely changing her expression.

"We were only having a conversation," Zelena tells him, her tone suddenly sounding so normal. "It _pains_ me to see a divide between a loving, doting father and his son."

The boy's eyes narrow with confusion as Robin's jaw tightens.

"I was hoping to smooth things over."

"Sure," Robin scoffs, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "That's exactly what _that_ felt like."

"I assure you that was my intention," Zelena says, looking between them. "We'll continue this at another time," she says, her eyes settling on Robin. "When we have… more time to explore our options."

"I… don't think that's necessary. I think I've said all I needed to say."

The footman waits until Zelena leaves–and then, his eyes widen. "Was _she_ flirting with _you_?"

"I… I think she was… trying to… seduce me," he says in a sheepish voice, not caring if he shouldn't be so honest.

"I… I… didn't mean to interrupt."

"I'm glad you did," Robin mutters in reply.

"So, uh, what did you, um… need?"

Robin blinks. "Bourbon–a glass of bourbon." His eyes shift to the footman and he finds himself feeling grateful that, as awkward as it is to have been caught in a nearly compromising position by a lower member of the staff, it would have been worse if Belle or Mal had walked in and even worse if Regina or the boys had. "I'll get it myself," he says, sighing. "I need to walk off the repulsion."

The footman nods–and as he walks down the long hallway toward the stairs, he finds himself unable to stop thinking about what Regina told him about Zelena, and her history–and after the little display she showed in the upstairs sitting room, there was no way her intentions were altruistic and pure as his father seemed to believe. But he couldn't quite figure out what exactly it was that she was after, or why it suddenly involved him. He was missing too many of the pieces.

Hovering at the entrance of the library, his eyes narrow as he scans the room–and then, instead of turning toward the glass bottle of bourbon, he moves to his father's desk. He works quickly, keeping an eye on the door as he jimmies the lock on his father's desk, pulling out a leather-bound book of his father's business contacts–and then, holding his breath, he turns to the contact information for Rupert Gold. Reaching for a quill, he jots down the address of a place he never intended to go with the intent of talking to a man he never wanted to interact with–and, hesitating only slightly, he tears the paper from the booklet, quickly blowing on it to dry the ink, before shoving it in his pocket.

His stomach lurches as he considers it–considers talking to a man who never does anything as a favor, who always expects something in return, whose services always come at a high price. His services couldn't be bought by writing a bank note; but instead, had to be paid at a time that they decided with a favor of his own. He'd seen him once before–when Marian was sick–because he had access to a medicine from a far away land. He'd been desperate and Gold knew that–but his father-in-law warned him off, and he'd never struck a deal. For years, he wondered if he'd made the right choice, but then when he considered it, he knew that Marian would have never wanted him to get mixed up with the likes of Rupert Gold.

Marian's family didn't have much. They were a military family, and hadn't gotten rich in their conquests as others had, but her parents lived a comfortable life. Together, they raised six girls and successfully married off all six–but their life was marred by tragedy and Gold played a hand in that.

Marian's mother–the woman who raised her–hadn't actually been her mother. In fact, her mother was actually her father's third wife. His first wife was her sisters' mother and she'd died from an outbreak of smallpox when the youngest of Marian's older sisters was only two. Not long after that, her father set sail–likely to get away from the misery that was a house of mourning–and it was on that voyage that he met Marian's birth mother. She was native woman in a distant land, and theirs was a whirlwind love affair. Only three months after they met, they married, and ten months after that, Marian was born. They'd been on their way back to England when their ship was caught in a storm, and when the storm passed, Marian's birth mother was nowhere to be found–and all they could do was speculate about what had happened to her.

Her father returned to England, once again wrought with grief–and that's when he met Rupert Gold. Gold promised an expedition, speaking of tiny islands in the middle of the ocean near the spot where the storm had nearly overtaken the ship–and though he probably should have known better, he was desperate to find his beloved bride and reunite his baby daughter with her mother. And Gold knew that.

Then spent the better part of a decade paying off a debt that never produced what it promised–and now, he was considering another deal.

For all of Gold's faults, he was well-connected. He had a way of knowing things and finding information–and he seemed just the type to be able to unearth information about Zelena's past. Of course, it was entirely possible that there was nothing to find. But secrets were never that–someone always knew something.

This wasn't about him. This wasn't about Regina, or his father, or even Zelena. But if she meant to do something that would sacrifice his children's comfort or the opportunities that the future held for them, he was going to find out–and, if it turned out that he could strike back at her for the little stunt she'd pulled with Jefferson at her dinner party, that would be all the better.

And it wasn't like he was naive. He'd be going into this with his eyes open; he wouldn't be tricked or fooled–and as long as he didn't show his vulnerability, there'd be nothing to exploit.

Regina holds her breath as the door opens–and her eyes flutter open as Robin crosses the dark bedroom, tip-toeing so he doesn't wake her. She swallows hard as she watches him, her stomach churning and her heart racing as she watches him undress, casting his clothes over the chair by the heart–and then, as he moves toward the bed, she presses her eyes closed so that she can pretend to be asleep.

He gets into bed carefully and pulls the blanket up around himself– then, he takes a breath.

Her eyes burn with tears as she wills herself not to cry, and she reminds herself again and again that she doesn't have anything to worry about. She reminds herself of that again and again–ever since he came up to their room and offered her a flimsy explanation about a business meeting he'd forgotten about. He'd left in a hurry and when she asked where he was going, he'd been coy; and when she pointed out how late it was, and suggested that going to wherever in the morning might be a better plan, he dismissed it. He told her he'd be quick and this worked out better than taking time out of the next day, that he knew where to find him at this hour, in a more relaxed setting–and then, he pressed a rushed kiss to her cheek and told her not to wait up for him.

It hadn't sat well with her but she wasn't worried–and then, as she rang for Belle, she realized she was missing an earring. She'd looked around the room and when it didn't turn up, she walked down to the nursery, carefully looking around the boys' beds. When she didn't find it there, she'd gone to the sitting room where they'd spent most of the evening. She opened the door just a crack when she heard two maids giggling together. One was in the midst of retelling a story she'd heard from a footman about how the younger Mr. Locksley had been kissing a woman that wasn't wife. The second maid gasped and asked who it was and the first maid, who'd been telling the story, didn't know–and as Regina took step back and away from the door, her stomach sank.

Robin wouldn't.

He loves her. She knows that.

But then she was alone with her thoughts and her worries got the best of her–and a little voice in the back of her head that sounded an awful lot like her mother, reminded her of why Robin married her in the first place. The voice reminded her that it was all because of a business deal that went awry, leaving her father practically bankrupt. She'd spent the better part of the night arguing with the voice and trying to rationalize that whatever the maids thought they knew, they were wrong.

But the voice persisted, and her insecurity started to seep in, and she found herself wondering if maybe loving her was just too difficult.

"Hey," Robin murmurs. "I know you're not sleeping."

Her eyes open and her brows arch. "How?"

"Your face isn't relaxed."

"What?"

"When you sleep," Robin whispers, "Your face relaxes. You look… peaceful and at ease."

"And I don't look that way now?"

"No, your jaw is tight."

"Oh…"

"Are you cold?"

"No."

"Oh," he murmurs. "Because I am."

Blinking, she turns her head over on the pillow. "Maybe it's because you're practically naked."

"Maybe," he muses, as a smile curls onto hip lips. "Why don't you come over here and warm me up."

"Oh, I–"

"Come on," he cuts in. "I want to hold you and let you warm me up."

In spite of herself, a little giggle bubbles up from her. "You know, there are blankets and–"

"I want you."

Grinning, she draws in a breath–and then, she edges over to him and cuddles up against him. Robin draws the blanket up around them and his arms wrap around her, his hands rubbing up and down her back as he presses a kiss to her hair, and for just a moment, her anxiety leaves her. Then, as she draws in a breath, she smells the bourbon and cigar smoke, and a perfume that isn't hers.


	28. Chapter 28

A full two weeks had passed since her secret had come out–and that meant, it was just under two weeks since the evening that Robin had acted so strangely, disappearing in the middle of the night only to return with the scent of a perfume that wasn't hers. She'd gone to bed that night with a knot in her stomach. Something was off, but she couldn't quite pinpoint why that was; but then, when he returned–the perfume aside–everything felt normal again.

All that night, though, she'd felt a nagging at her core, and by the time morning came she'd barely slept and every insecurity she had was flaring–and by the time morning came, she'd managed to convince herself that any indiscretion Robin may have had was justified. By the time they finished breakfast with the boys, she'd decided that whatever happened was her fault–after all, she'd always known that no sane, decent man would ever be able to accept her sordid past, and all he had left to do was make the best of an impossible situation. If he found solace in the arms of someone else, that wasn't all that difficult to understand.

But Robin's actions seemed contrary to the self-deprecating monologue that played repeatedly in her head.

As Henry told them about a story he was writing about all the wonderful adventures his dragon had been on, Robin's arm tucked around her waist. His hand settled on her hip as he gently pulled her a bit closer, and he leaned in to rest his head over hers as he listened to Henry. All through breakfast he did these sorts of things, offering her sweet, little gestures that only confused her.

It'd been raining that morning, so the boys had had to stay in–and though that disappointed them, Robin seemed all too excited to delay whatever it was that he was supposed to be doing to sit in on their piano lesson. For more than an hour, Roland and Henry took turns showing off by playing little bits and pieces of a symphony Mal had been teaching them. They hadn't mastered the song (or the piano)–and much to Robin's delight, Beethoven's fifth was one of the few songs he remembered from his own schooling.

And that was when Mal seized her opportunity.

She'd dragged her out of the boys' sitting room toward the nursery and then into her bedroom, locking the door behind them as she turned with a huff, her brow furrowed and her hands on her hips as she demanded to know what was wrong. Initially, Regina attempted to play coy, not admitting to her own distraction, but Mal knew her better than that and wasn't easily fooled–and after a few attempts at putting her off, she confessed her worries.

For all her life Mal had been her go-to for advice, because for all her life, Mal had been a master at reading people. Regina didn't always listen (usually when she didn't like the response), but she trusted her, and by the end of her confession, she'd found herself in tears and Mal looking at her with puzzled eyes and a slack jaw. Then, to her surprise, she refuted every last concern.

In her short time at Sherwood, she'd already realized that the youngest maids fed off of gossip and drama, using it to offset their dull existences in the house; and though she didn't have solid proof, she didn't think it was improbable that the footman who'd started the story simply made it up in an effort to get in and cozy up with one of the maids.

That was true enough, Regina reasoned. They'd feasted on the story of Celeste and Robin for _weeks_ after it happened–and nothing had actually happened there. The story had been twisted and spun so many times, it made her head a little dizzy–and it made her laugh because the final story she'd heard was so fantastical and improbable that was the only response she could manage.

In the last version of the rumor that Belle heard and promptly reported back to Mal, the straight-laced, rule-abiding and chaste nanny had been sent away from Sherwood to conceal a love child–but alas, neither she nor her not-yet-born baby would ever return to Sherwood, as they'd been swept up by some dashing revolutionary in France who'd amazingly won a spot as a trusted advisor to none other than Napoleon Bonaparte and joined him in exile on the island of St. Helena.

She'd giggled a bit before her eyes darkened and she reminded Mal of the perfume that she herself had smelled, and to her surprise, Mal brushed it off, easily stating that there were any number of perfectly innocent reasons he might had smelled of someone else's perfume. Of course, she couldn't offer any hard proof, but she made it a point to remind her that it was a rare occasion when she took any man's side over his wife's–even when the wife was completely in the wrong–but Robin Locksley wasn't like most of the men they'd known. He didn't have mistresses or frequent brothels when he stayed overnight in the city; and, whenever he went anywhere, Regina was always invited. He was honest and balked at conventional roles, and he'd had umpteen reasons not to marry her–but he'd done it anyway. Even after they'd married, Regina had given him ample opportunity to walk away and he'd never even entertained the idea–and then, Mal dealt her a hard truth. The problem with her marriage wasn't her husband, it was her and her own insecurities; and if something went awry between them and their marriage soured, it wouldn't be because Robin hadn't been faithful or didn't love and accept her. It would be because she didn't love and accept herself.

She must've looked devastated because no sooner than she said it, Mal reached for her hand and assured her that she hadn't ruined anything. Then when she tried to protest, Mal cut her off, chuckling softly as she made an aloof comment about having threatened to castrate Robin if he ever hurt her. Regina laughed and shook her head as she shot Mal a warning look as Mal smiled and assured her it was an empty threat, mostly due to Robin's adoration of her.

When they'd joined Robin and the boys again, the boys were playing a song and Robin was watching them–and when he saw her, he held out his hand, pulling her close and holding her with his chin on her shoulder as the boys played a slightly off-key rendition of _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_. And as he held her, softly swaying and pressing the occasional kiss to her jaw, she couldn't help but think that Mal was right.

So, she didn't say anything to him about her worries, instead pushing them out of her mind…

Regina sighs as her eyes flutter and she turns onto her side. She's been awake for far longer than she's let on, allowing herself to drift in and out of sleep, and enjoy the warmth of the bed for just a little longer–and then, a bit reluctantly, she reaches for Robin on the other side of the bed.

But her hand falls into empty space, forcing her eyes open.

Her brow furrows as she looks down at the empty space–the dented pillow and bunched up blanket–and as her fingers touch to the sheet, she bites down on her lip and sits up, looking around the room until finally, she spots him.

Robin's standing in the dressing room with the door ajar and to the right of him is a porcelain pitcher and a large wash basin. Biting down on her lip, she cranes her neck, angling herself a bit awkwardly to catch a glimpse of him, and she does just in time to see his robe loosen. She hesitates for a moment, looking around the empty room as if someone might catch her doing something that she shouldn't–and then, when she looks back, she pulls herself up against the pillows on his side of the bed, watching as Robin shrugs off the robe and tosses it over the back of a chair.

Her cheeks flush at the little sound that escapes her as her eyes linger over his backside, taking in his broad shoulders and muscular back and lingering a bit too long over his ass as he bends slightly to pour water into the basin. For a while, she just lays there, watching as he washes himself–alternating the wet sponge and the dry flannel cloth, watching as he rubs them against his skin and watching as he twists and turns, unknowingly showing himself off to her–and it wasn't until she shifted herself for a better view that she realizes the effect his sponge bath has had on her.

It wasn't unusual for her to see him this way–they did share a bedchamber and quite close quarters–but there was something about this particular morning, that had her tingling and longing to touch him. Of course, she could have easily gotten out of the bed and joined him–she could slip out of her night dress and surprise him, she could slide her hands over her wet skin and press warm kisses to shoulder blades, and she knows that if she allowed it, he'd lift her up and press her up against the wall and have his way with her. She could almost feel his hands gripping at her thighs as her legs wrapped around him, the feeling of his hard cock slipping into her, and the warmth of his breath on her neck.

But she wasn't quite ready for that–as infuriating as it was to even her–and she was far too comfortable in their warm bed to actually get up and brave the cool air of their bedchamber. At the remembrance of the chilly air, she shivered and was suddenly very aware of her hardened nipples, aching to be touched.

Swallowing hard, she relaxes her shoulders and keeps her eyes on Robin as she unlaces the front of her nightdress. Her hand slips beneath the muslin dress, and she sighs softly as her hand kneads at her breast, tweaking the nipple and teasing herself with her own touch. Robin raises his leg, balancing his foot on the edge of the chair as he washes his thigh and calf, slowly ensuring that he covers every patch of skin–and giving her a tantalizing view of his ass.

Her hand coast lower, slipping down her torso then back up again, and she squirms in frustration when her hand can't quite reach the spot where she wants it. A bit hastily, she pulls it away, adjusting herself as she lifts her hips and hikes her night dress up over her hips. Beneath the blanket, she cups herself, rubbing roughly as Robin drops the sponge into the basin and reaches for the towel to dry his wet skin–and then, as he bends a bit more, her finger slip between her lips and drag through her wetness.

A little moan escapes her at the first touch. Two of her fingers slowly glide up to swirl around her clit, then push back down, repeating this again and again as she watches Robin wash the other leg. She grins a little as her eyes linger on him, and she decides she likes this angle better. His ass looks tighter and he's turned in a way that if he'd just look past the open door, he'd easily be able to see her staring–and his stiff cock sticks out in front of him looking as though it's just begging to be sucked.

Her eyes close and she thinks about that night at the hunting lodge. She thinks about crouching down in front of him, pulling his cock from his pants, and taking him in her mouth–and she thinks the way his fingers combed through her hair and caressed her cheeks, how he'd looked at her as her eyes met his and how he smiled as a show of his pleasure. That night, her head had been dizzy, but she'd been in full control of what was happening, and when they got into bed together, her heart had pounded with eager anticipation and unimaginable lust. It'd been so long since she'd allowed herself to give into those urges–to let herself enjoy them and not feel guilty for them–and when Robin slipped inside of her, she hadn't been able to pull him close enough. Her arms and legs wrapped around him as his cock slid in and out of her–slowly, at first, but with increasing speed until the bed frame shook and she was moaning uncontrollably.

She wanted to feel that again–that passion and closeness, the lust and love–and as she slipped a finger inside of herself, she moaned at the lack of fulfilment it brought. Still, though, she pumped her finger in and out of herself, soon adding another and imagining that Robin was the one touching her. Her thumb presses at her aching clit, rubbing it as another moan escapes her and as her fingers pump faster–and again, she pictures him laying beside her, his tongue swirling around her nipple as his fingers ready her for his cock.

"You know, I was–" Robin's voice halts as her eyes fly open. "Oh."

"Oh my god…" she murmurs, her hand suddenly still. "I was–"

"Don't stop."

"What?" Her brow furrows. "I wasn't–"

A grin twists onto his lips as he tugs at the tie of his robe. "You were and you should continue."

"But–"

"I want to watch." Her eyes widen a little and she feels her cheeks flush as Robin's gaze holds her–and it's not until he shrugs off the robe that her eyes drop to his erection. "Keep going," he urges, and this time, she nods. Swallowing hard, she grins a bit sheepishly as he gets into bed with her–and her breath catches in her chest as he pulls back the covers. "Take off your night dress."

Her breath gets caught in her chest, but she manages to nod as she tugs the thin dress over her head and drops it down onto the floor. Robin's grin catches her eye and once more, she feels her cheeks warm, and before she can say anything his lips come down onto her shoulder, sucking gently at her exposed skin.

With a soft sigh, her head falls back against the pillow and his hand finds her breast, gently kneading as his lips and tongue slide up against the crook of her neck. He feels so good and his touches and kisses make her heart flutter and the spot between her legs wetter, and it's not long after that her fingers begin to rub against her clit.

She's distracted by the sensation and it's not until the cool air prickles at her skin that she realizes that Robin's pulled away the sheet that covered her lower half and is watching her pleasure herself.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs in a husky voice. "Tell me."

"Oh, I…" Her voice trails off as her head turns on her pillow, and as her eyes meet his, she feels a smile tug onto her lips. "I was thinking about you."

"Me," he says, looking quite pleased with himself. "Can you be more specific?"

Giggling softly, she nods. "I was thinking about the night we were together, um… up at the lodge when–"

"I remember," he cuts in. "I think of that often."

"Ah–"

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Do you think of it often and… well…do what you're doing?"

For a moment, she hesitates, but then she nods. "More often than I should admit."

"So, this is… a frequent occurrence?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that."

"No?" he asks, his voice coy as his finger trace circles over her torso. "Perhaps only when you get those random headache and need to lay down and–"

"I _do_ get headaches sometimes," she says, mocking offense. "But… only on occasion…"

"I wish you'd invite me."

"That doesn't seem fair."

Robin's eyes widen and she giggles softly. "And how do you figure that?"

"Well, we're not, um… being intimate, really, and–"

"This seems pretty intimate."

"It does," she concedes. "Do you, um… I mean… do you…"

"Pleasure myself while thinking of you?" Her eyes widen slightly and her cheeks warm–and she knows that it's silly to be embarrassed by such a conversation while she's doing what she's doing, but she can't help it. "I just mean–"

"Yes."

"Oh."

A husky chuckle escapes Robin as he presses a kiss to her shoulder. "I think of you _all_ the time."

"And you–"

"Yes," he nods, pressing another kiss her skin, this time his lips fluttering against her clavicle. "And I often think of that night we spent together… or that day in the stables or–"

"Oh, not that day."

"Why?" he asks, lifting his head. "That was _quite_ pleasurable for me."

"We got caught."

"So?"

"Robin, I shouldn't have–"

"Regina, it was a private moment. We'd had a wonderful day together and we'd had a bit to drink. You just… acted on impulse, and I enjoyed it _immensely_."

Her cheeks flush again as her eyes fall away from his. "I interrupted you."

"What?"

"You were going to add something to, um… to your list of, um…"

"Ah–"

"Yes."

"Another favorite memory is you coming into my bedchamber and taking off your robe, standing in front of me naked. I think about the way you smiled and held my gaze, how you sunk down onto your knees in front of me and took me in your mouth and…" He sighs contently. "And I think about how badly I wanted you."

"But you had me."

He nods. "I wanted more."

"Oh–"

"I always want more, Regina," he admits, his lips slipping over her jaw. "I think of you constantly and sometimes, I just… I can't help myself." His eyes shine as he pulls himself up a little, moving himself closer to her as he leans in and pecks her lips. "That's what I'd been doing before my bath."

"And _you_ didn't invite _me_?" she asks, her brow arching as a grin pulls onto his lips. "It seems we're each doing one another a disservice."

"Mm, it does," he agrees. "Perhaps, we should rectify it?"

"We can't—" Her voice falters. "I mean, not yet–"

"I know," he says easily. "That's alright."

"You're not dis–"

"Don't you dare suggest that I am or should be disappointed," he tells her in a voice that's a bit firmer as he looks her in the eye–and then, a grin shines through them. "Especially not when I'm naked and in bed with you."

She can't help but laugh as she leans in, taking his lips in hers and kissing him softly. Her hand coasts up over his stubbly cheek and she grins into the kiss as his hand tangles in her hair. Slowly, he leans in, pushing her back down against the pillows. His free hand settles on her hip, kneading gently at her skin, his erection poking into her thigh as her legs spread a little wider–and an all too brief moment, she considers just giving in.

But then Robin pulls back and rolls away from her, settling at her side.

His arm stretches around her shoulders and instinctively, she cuddles a bit closer, pressing as kiss to his chest as she settles herself.

"So, tell me," he begins, taking his hard cock into his hand and curling his fingers around it. "Where were you?"

"What?"

"In the memory–"

"Oh–"

She feels a tingle between her legs as she remembers–and then her cheeks flush. "Well, it wasn't actually a memory I was thinking of. That's how it started, but… but that's not where I ended up."

"No?"

"No."

"So, a fantasy?"

"Something like that," she admits a bit sheepishly. "I was… thinking about… what it'd be like if I joined you in the dressing room."

"Tell me more."

"Robin–"

"Tell me," he urges, his eyes trailing down her bare body. "Show me where I'd touch you."

Her cheeks flush again but she nods, letting her hand settle between her legs once more. Her fingers rub at her clit as she tells him all the things she'd been imagining, and in turn, he adds to the fantasy. Her fingers slip back inside of her, pumping slowly at first and then picking up the pace as he continues to talk and continues to stroke himself until finally, they both explode–her climax setting off his–and she feels too sated and relaxed to feel embarrassed by any of it.

When she's done, he pulls her hand away from herself and kisses her palm, then sucks on each of her fingers–and though her cheeks warm, she can't bring herself to pull away. Robin chuckles softly as he drops her hand, and as soon as he does, he leans in for another kiss.

She's not sure how long they lay together that way, but by the time they get out of bed and get dressed for the day, they realize they've missed breakfast. They make their way to the boys' sitting room and almost immediately, Henry points out their tardiness. They fumble through an explanation as Mal's brow arches up a bit suggestively, and all she can do is giggle when Robin beings singing the praises of morning naps, and the boys promptly drop the subject.

For nearly two weeks now, they'd taken a daily walk–strolling slowing across the property, exploring the woods and walking through tall grass that seemed to go on forever. They walked to the little pond where they'd taken the boys swimming, and once they'd even walked to the old ruins where they'd gone for Henry's birthday–and though they always acted surprised, as though this was a new idea, Regina came to anticipate and enjoy their daily walks.

It was a cool fall day and she was chilly in a mauve colored dress and matching cloak. She was wearing a straw bonnet that tied under be chin and her white gloves were barely enough to block the wind–but she wasn't quite ready to give in to winter.

Of course, the sooner winter weather came, the sooner she, Robin and the boys would leave Sherwood for the lodge, and the sooner she'd feel more relaxed and at ease, but there something about winter that never quite sat well with her. It made her anxious and it made her feel trapped, and she'd never been very good at being alone with her thoughts. As a girl, winter meant less time in the stables and more time at home with her mother, and her first winter away from Dragon Head was one of the hardest. She was perpetually cold and had an infant to care for, and it's been that winter that she'd written to her father, begging of him to come and get her and Henry, but her letter had gone unanswered. She and Daniel tried to make the best out of it–and, of course, Daniel had done what he could–but no sooner than one winter passed, another was upon them and then he was gone and that winter brought to her a sense of loneliness she'd never knew possible. And now, though her life was significantly more comfortable than it was then, she couldn't quite envision what it'd be like to spend time stuck inside with Richard and Zelena, and a staff that only looked down on her.

"So, where shall we go today?"

"I don't care," she admits easily. "I just want to walk."

"Suppose we walk over to the stables," Robin says, looking over at her. "Mal said she was going to take the boys down after their language lesson."

Regina smiles. "That sounds nice."

"Then that's what we'll do."

She grins as his fingers lace through hers as they turn themselves in the general direction of the stables, and for awhile, they walk together in comfortable silence. When she shivers, he pulls her closer so their arms touch, and eventually, he wraps his arm around her shoulder, giving her a bit of extra warmth.

"You know," Robin begins, his voice soft and without urgency. "I forgot to mention we had a letter in today's post."

"Did we?" she asks, looking over at him. "I had ones from Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley, but you didn't–"

"It was stuck to something else," he explains. "The wax seals sort of melded together, and the thing it attached itself to wasn't very interesting, so I didn't look at it until just before we left."

"Ah–"

"It's from the Blanchards."

Regina's brow arches. "As in Leopold and Eva?"

"No," he murmurs. "As in Mary-Margaret."

"Mary-Margaret," she repeats slowly. "Why would…" Her brow furrows and she laughs a little. "She's a child."

"She's sixteen and engaged."

Regina blinks as she looks up at him. "She's a child."

"A child whose invited us to a party."

"Oh," she murmurs, looking away, her shoulder suddenly feeling weighed down. "I don't think we should–"

"We were invited."

"I know, but…" Her voice trails off and she sighs, her chest aching and her throat tightening. "I just… we weren't invited with the expectation that we'd actually show up."

"I…" Robin falters. "What do you mean?"

"It's a courtesy."

"I disagree."

Rolling her eyes, she looks to him–and she hates how soft and patient his eyes are. "Mary-Margaret doesn't want me there, and her parents most certainly don't."

"Why wouldn't they? We've been invited before and–"

"That was… well… as you said, it was _before_."

For a moment, it doesn't seem that he understands; and then, she watches as his eyes fill with realization. "Regina, I don't–"

"I wouldn't be welcome, no matter what the invitation says." Looking away, she focuses on the meadow in front of them, watching as the tall grass sways in the wind. "Women like me don't get invited to parties."

"Yet, you did."

"No," she murmurs. "My mother used to do this–she'd send off invitations to balls and soirees and luncheons, and there were the ones she knew would go to people who'd come no matter what, then another group of interesting people who would see it as a novelty, and then… there was… a third group." Sighing, she looks to him. "I am in the third group. I get an invitation with the unspoken understanding that I won't attend. It'd be impolite not to invite us, given your social status and–"

"Regina, I want to go."

At that, her jaw tightens and once again, she looks away. "You could go alone."

"I can't," he insists. "Who would I dance with?"

"You don't like to dance."

"I like to dance with you."

"But–"

"Regina, you can't hide forever."

"Can't I?" she asks, her voice small and cowering. "Why can't–"

"Because you've done nothing wrong." Her eyes widen as she looks back at him, her brow furrowing as if she's seen some sort of supernatural, impossible phenomenon–yet, instead of realizing how ridiculously naive he sounds, he offers her a brazen laugh. "Oh, come on. It'll be fun! You can get a new dress and we'll spend the night drinking and dancing and–"

"Pretending we don't hear the whispers?"

"Well, I expect whispers," he plainly tells her. "After all, I consistently show up with the most radiant girl and–" 

"Robin!"

"Please?"

"We can't–"

"Suppose I clear it with her?"

Her eyes roll. "Are you going to ask her if she intended to invite a common–"

Before she can finish, Robin stops and when he turns himself in front of her, she has no choice but to stop, too–and before she can question him, he reaches for the ribbons on her bonnet and tugs her to him, kissing her gently, yet leaving her breathless.

"I want to go to a party and have a nice night with my wife, is that so wrong?" A grin twists onto his lips as his fingers rub at the ribbons on her bonnet. "I love you and I'm proud of you, and I want us to have a good time. We'll likely be sitting beside each other at dinner," he adds. "We'll eat a good meal and make fun of the Blanchard's snooty guests, and we'll drink and dance until the sun comes up."

"You think we'll stay all night?"

"We did before," he reasons. "And the Blanchards live too far away for us to come home right after."

"And in the morning–"

"We'll have a nice breakfast with the others who stay and then make a day out of getting home."

"A day…"

Robin nods. "There's that little perfume shop–"

Regina's brow arches. "Are you bribing me with perfume?"

"I am," he admits, chuckling softly. "Perfume and a new dress."

She hesitates for a moment and her stomach flops, thinking of how uncomfortable it'll be to be in a ballroom, surrounded by people who know her deepest and darkest secrets, some of whom were there the night it was all revealed. She holds her breath and reasons that it's not terribly uncommon for snow storms to blow through every now and then, trapping them and making travel difficult–and she wonders if she could be that lucky.

"Alright," she concedes. "We can go, if you want to."

"I do," he tells her, tugging on the ribbons once more to draw her in for a quick kiss. "And I am going to write to her tonight to tell her we accept."

Regina's eyes roll. "Fantastic."

"It will be," he tells her sweetly. "I promise."

Again, her eyes roll and she sighs as they continue toward the stables.

As they walk they talk about the letters from Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Beakley, and though she can't quite see a point in either of them–especially Mrs. Potter's–it's nice to feel like she has a purpose at the house, and to feel needed and included. Of course, they ran the house for years without her and they know better than her how it operates; yet, without fail, since the first time they visited, Mrs. Potter has sent a weekly note, informing her of the house expenses and cleaning routines, explaining what they ordered and why, and listing off tasks for her–as the Lady of the House–to choose from.

Mrs. Beakley's letters were of a more private, personal nature. She asked her questions about the tea, asking if she felt any cramping or discomfort, and explaining what she should do if she felt any of those things–and always, she reminded her that in a month, the Queen Anne's Lace should have done what it needed to do to her body. She included other things, too. She asked questions about the boys–asking about their studies and eating habits–and occasionally she would send them little trinkets, like a set of jacks to play Knucklebones with, or a box of cookies for them to munch on. Because of this, the boys were constantly curious about her letters, always asking if one came and practically sprinting down the stairs whenever the post was delivered. In a lot of ways, her letters felt maternal–always including some sort of comfort or guidance–and she found that she looked forward to them almost as much as the boys did.

With the stables in view, she squints and watches Roland standing on an overturned bucket brushing Henry's horse–who after weeks and weeks of painful debate came to be called Phillipe. Henry is standing with Mal by the fence, and Phillipe's saddle is around a post. Mal is showing him how to fasten it and she can see that Henry is listening carefully–and that he looks a little nervous.

"Do you think they'd want to take a ride?"

"They'd _love_ it," Robin says, grinning as his eyes settle on Roland, as he leans up into his toes to pat the horse's ear. "But would _she_?"

A grin pulls onto her lips. "I think she can be convinced."

"And where would we take them?" Robin asks. "Town?"

"No–"

His brow furrows. "Why not? It's a short ride on a path that's relatively smooth and–"

"I don't think going into town is the best idea."

Without looking at him, she knows the perplexed look he wears. Riding into town is a logical choice. It's nearby and the path too it is a relatively straight one, making for an easy ride for a first-time rider–and then, of course, the potential of raspberry or lime cordial to mark the momentous occasion for one child and to tamp down the jealousy of the other. But the thought of going into town was too much for her to even consider. Before, she only suspected that people knew what she'd done; now, there was no question of it, and if she could avoid the stares and whispers and jeers, she would, and she'd avoid them as long as she possibly could.

"I was thinking we'd go to Dragon Head."

Robin's brows arch and he looks genuinely surprised. "You want to visit your mother?"

"Well, not exactly," she admits. "I wasn't thinking we'd go inside." Again, Robin looks confused and a soft laugh escapes her. "My father is a creature of habit. He's likely spending the afternoon in the stables today."

"How would you–"

"It's Tuesday, and my mother has luncheons on Tuesdays."

"Ah–"

"It's too early for the pub."

"Of course," he says, chuckling softly. "It all makes sense now."

"And he would _love_ to see Henry riding the horse he gave him."

"I imagine he would, and it's fitting that Henry's first ride would be to see him." She nods as they continue through the meadow, and when Roland notices them, he waves his arms wildly in their direction, and they both wave as they continue to stroll slowly toward the stables. "Tomorrow, though, I do have to go into town."

"Oh?"

"Nothing too important," he says in an almost dismissive voice. "Just a business engagement I need to check in on."

"Would this have something to do with that mysterious investment you didn't tell me about?"

"Um, not quite."

When he offers no more, Regina looks to him. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," he tells her, grinning as he looks over at her. "But I think you should come with me."

"I don't–"

"You could meet with Ruby about that dress, then we could rendezvous for luncheon."

"I… don't really need a dress."

"Of course you do. We're going to–"

"It's not really a special occasion, though," she tells him, raising her voice up over his and trying to sound like she doesn't care. "I don't need a new dress for absolutely every occasion. It's a waste and–"

"The money isn't the issue."

"I know, but–"

"Regina, you always enjoy when…" His voice trails off and his eyes narrow. "I won't make you come along, but I wish you'd consider it. You don't need to hide away from the world."

Swallowing hard, she nods. "It'd be easier–"

"No, it wouldn't be," Robin says, cutting in in a firm voice. "You have no reason to hide."

"Other than the fact that everyone knows that I am nothing more than a common whore." At that, he stops, forcing her to stop too–and she finds it difficult to look at him. "Can we please just–"

"That's not true."

"Robin–"

"You were in a desperate spot. You did what you had to do. That's all. Your choices say nothing of your character or–"

"Can we please just change the subject?"

"Regina, I think–"

"I'm not ready," she tells him, feeling a rush of emotion as she casts her eyes up to meet his. "Can you please just… try to understand that?"

Robin sighs, but nods. "Alright," he murmurs. "I won't push."

"Thank you."

Reaching out, he takes her hand, giving it a little squeeze as he tugs her to him and when he wraps his arms around her, she can't help but lean into him and let him comfort her. He kisses the top of her head and strokes his hands over her back as she swallows back her tears and draws in deep, deliberate breaths until she no longer feels like she's going to crack.

"Come on," he murmurs. "The boys have noticed us and they're waiting."

Taking one last breath, she nods and they continue on the rest of the way–and by the time they reach the stables, she's managed to compose herself enough and put on her best face. The boys both rush toward them. Roland practically flies into her arms as Henry talks a mile a minute, explaining everything he's learned about saddling up a horse–and when Robin suggests going for a ride, both boys' faces light up with excitement, and Mal can't even muster a protest.

Henry works carefully to saddle up the horse, while she and Mal watch him and ensure that everything is properly strapped and tightened, while Robin and Roland saddle up Rocinante and one of the other horses. Roland pouts about not having his own horse to ride, and Robin once more makes an off-handed comment about him not yet being seven that seems to placate him.

She feels a sharp sense of worry and pride as she helps Henry mount his horse, and when he sits up straight with his shoulders back and his hands on the reigns, she finds tears welling in her eyes. Robin looks proud too as he joins her–also checking the straps of the bridle and saddle–and when he's done, his hand finds her back, offering a supportive pat before he moves to the opposite end of the stable to lead out Rocinante.

"Remember," Mal says in a soft voice. "Just like we practiced."

"I can't believe how much he looks like Daniel," Regina says in a hoarse whisper as she looks over at Mal. "I always see him in Henry, but right now, it's just incredible. He's his father's spitting image."

"Really?" she asks, "I think he looks like you."

"Me?"

She nods. "Daniel's posture was never that good at that age."

"I've been practicing a lot," Henry says. "In my bedroom."

"And on me," Roland sighs as he joins them, hugging himself to Regina's skirt. "He's heavy."

Regina laughs as she bends to scoop up Roland, and as she presses a kiss to his messy hair and holds him a bit tighter than usual, she looks to Henry. "Alright, so let me see you walk with him."

"Can I trot to the–" A resounding _no_ echoes through the stables from all three adults, and Henry frowns and Roland giggles. "Fine."

"Let's see it. Go on."

Henry nods and takes a breath, then kicks his feet to the horse's sides and tugs gently on the reigns–and when he does, the horse takes his first step. Henry seems a little wobbly at first, but by the time he reaches the end of the stables, he seems like a pro–and his success is rewarded with a pat on the back from Robin.

Philippe walks back to where she and Mal are standing, and Henry smiles proudly as the horse comes to a halt at the first command.

"He's awfully well-trained," Regina says, looking to Mal, who only shrugs–and then, a sly little grin edges onto her lips, and Regina wonders if her sons aren't the only ones getting lessons from Mal. But before she can ask about it, Robin walks over with Rocinante, trading the horse's reins for Roland.

"So, where are we going?" Henry asks, watching as she mounts her horse.

"Dragon Head."

"To see Grandpapa?" Roland asks, brightening.

"Not to see Grandmother," Henry insists.

"We _are_ going to see your grandpapa," Regina tells him. "But, unfortunately, your grandmother has guests, and it'd be rude to show up unannounced and interrupt."

"Good."

A soft chuckle escapes her, and she looks to Robin. "Do you want to hold Roland or ride alongside Henry."

"I don't need anyone to–" She, Robin and Mal all shoot him a warning look, and once more Roland giggles as a frown forms over Henry's lips. "Alright. Fine."

"I'll take Roland," Robin says easily. "I think it'd be best if you rode with Henry."

Regina nods as Robin leads over his horse, twisting Roland onto his back as he mounts the horse, then swinging him back around and settling the boy in front of him. Roland grings as Robin hands him the leather reigns, and with a soft tug, the horse starts forward.

"Remember, we're going slow," Regina says, shooting Henry a warning look that makes him sigh with disappointment, but nonetheless, he nods, watching as she gives Rocinante's reigns a little tug and instructs him to do the same to Philippe's reigns–and as they make their way out of the stables, Henry makes an under the breath quip about the speed of molasses that neither she nor Robin choose to hear.

It takes them double the time to get to Dragon Head–a detail Henry points out as much as he can, and a detail that both she and Robin ignore whenever it's brought up–and when they arrive, they find her father reclined on a haybale munching on pumpkin seeds he keeps in a satchel.

He beams with pride as he watches Henry and Philippe stroll toward the stable, and when he jokingly suggests that Philippe looks like he could use a good run, Regina shoots him a look that has him chuckling under his breath and her father backpedaling immediately.

Then, as her son shot _her_ the same look, her father reminded her that at Henry's age she spent her afternoons galloping through the fields and forests surrounding the estate—and she offers an icy reply, hoping her children wouldn't make the same mistakes she made as a girl. At that, only Roland giggled and she was glad to have at least one person on her side, even if he was only on her side because he didn't have a horse of his own to go galloping through fields on.

Eventually, the boys were distracted by other things going on in the stables. Since it was cooler, the goats and chickens had been moved inside–and by the time she even notices them, the boys are crouched down in front of the pen with a bucket of feed. She smiles as Roland takes interest in one of the small goats, and proudly he beams up at them, calling the goat _kinder_ and showing off his newly acquired German vocabulary–and of course, this earns him a handful of seeds from his grandpapa.

"This is a pleasant surprise," Henry says as they settle back on the hay bales. "As you remember," he says, looking to Regina, "We don't get much company outside of Cora's… well, I suppose I'll call them friends, though the seems too strong a word." He grins as he looks to Robin. "Our cook makes an _incredible_ mousse and whenever it's on the menu, the ladies flock to it."

"Our cook's mousse is… a bit bland, as is everything she makes," Robin admits. "Perhaps you could convince her to send that recipe our way."

"Your father would have a fit."

Robin grins. "I know."

Henry offers a hearty laugh of understanding. "That sounds like something I'd do."

Regina's eyes roll, but nonetheless, she grins and sits back, listening to her husband and father having a lighthearted discussion about favorite meals and desserts.

Looking up at the rafters, she focuses on the hayloft–thinking about all the time she and Daniel spent there.

From the time she was Henry's age, they'd curl up on a bale of hay, eating cookies and playing cards–and then, of course, when they were teenagers, it became a place where they could be together without interruption. All of that seemed a lifetime ago, and now she barely resembled the girl who'd steal away into the hayloft after blowing off dance lessons.

Everything about her had been different then. She'd been carefree and careless, unable to see the path she was forging for herself and the many twists and turns it would include, and the once unfathomable things she'd experienced because of it.

Yet, still, it made her smile.

And as she listens to Roland giggle as a baby goat licks his hand and she watches Henry crouch down and whisper something in his ear that only makes his giggle grow louder, she can't help but think she was glad for that stupid girl who threw away every advantage she'd been born with because if she hadn't, moments like these wouldn't have been possible.

It was strange to be grateful for something that brought so much pain, to think that something so terrible and volatile should have happened, yet nothing about her life or the path she was on could be described in any other way–and maybe, she thought, she should be more like that girl– maybe she should be less afraid.

After all, her own plan for her life had completely imploded on more than one occasion; perhaps fate would do a better job of managing things.

At the very least, if she stayed in her little bubble with her husband and her sons, she could be happy.

Her thoughts settle on that for a moment, but the thought is a fleeting one that's quickly replaced by reminders of the limits her decision had placed upon her. Robin's proposal had been a stroke of luck that wasn't engineered by her choices or even by fate–it was a business deal that ended with a sweet surprise–and still, their lives weren't theirs to live. There were rules for them to live by–rules imposed by position and inheritance, by his father and her mother–and she hated to think of herself as a pawn.

Yet, still, she wondered if there could be a way out of that, a way around it…

Reaching for Robin's hand, she laces her fingers through his, and he turns back momentarily, offering her a quick wink and a grin before returning his attention to the conversation he's having with her father as she pushes away the conflicting monologue playing in her head.

"I still think you should come," Robin says, looking pointedly at her father. "I'd like your opinion."

"I don't have a head for business. You know that."

"I disagree."

Henry laughs wryly. "Are you forgetting I managed to lose a sum of money so large it should have been enough to run Dragon Head until the end of the century–or, well, mid-century given Cora's penchant for collecting rare and hideous antiques."

Regina smiles, thinking of her mother's collections of statues and masks that she kept locked away in her personal sitting room–a room maids always cleaned quickly and reluctantly, and a room she'd avoided at all costs as a child. A little laugh escapes her as she remembers hiding behind her father's legs the day a crate from the African coast arrived with some rare treasure a privateer had likely pillaged from some unoffending people, and she remembers how her eyes widened when her mother lifted what, to her, looked like a severed head. It was only upon further examination, when her mother had called her for tea a few days later, she'd realized it was merely a wooden sphere with a face carved into it. Again, she laughs a little, and when she looks to Robin, he isn't smiling, much less laughing.

"Henry," he begins in a tentative voice. "You… you do know that you weren't responsible for…"

"I was always taking risks."

"But, Henry, the last one–"

"It wasn't my money, you see–well, not most of it." A grin pulls onto her father's lips as he looks between them. "Once Cora and I married, that bit became murky for me, but she could keep tabs on every last penny. So, naturally, I loved making investments in new inventions and the like." He shrugs. "I never imagined losing as much as I did, but I wasn't surprised."

"But what if you were _led_ to that investment?" Robin asks. "What if–"

"I know your father was the other investor." Regina's brows jut up as Robin's eyes widen. "And had it not been for my daughter and grandson, I'd have refused your offer to save me."

"But, you'd… you'd have been completely ruined."

"I know," Henry tells him, smiling as a laugh lifts to his eyes. "Can you picture Cora wearing worn out rags?"

"Daddy–"

"Henry, you can't be–"

"I'd have been alright," he insists. "If I didn't have this estate to worry about, I might've found another path."

"A path without my mother."

Henry blinks as he looks to her. "I know she's your mother, but I think it'd have been an acceptable time to part ways. I'd have lived happily ever after in some little cottage somewhere with the image of her living in squalor."

Regina frowns. "I… feel terrible now."

"Why?"

"Because you… you had your out and then I ru–"

"My darling girl, you ruined nothing."

"Are you sure about that? You seem to have had a plan."

"I'm not sure how much of a plan it was," Robin interjects, looking between them. "Henry, my father deliberately–"

"It was bound to happen eventually."

"How are you not upset?"

Regina watches as her father shrugs dismissively. "As I said, it was bound to happen."

"Yes, but–"

"It's a complicated game we all play, Robin, and sometimes I was a willing pawn. Sometimes I was forced to side with my wife and other times I sided against her. Either way, it's a game that's been going on long before any of us were involved."

"But, Daddy, if–"

"If you are about to imply that seeing you move on to a happy marriage after all you've suffered is somehow a disappointment, you could not be more wrong."

Her lips part to protest, ready to point out that he just said a moment before that he'd have finally been freed of Cora and able to live a life of his choosing, but before she can form the words Robin nudges her, offering her a little grin that makes her cheeks flush. "It's quite a happy marriage," he adds.

"And that's all I ever wanted from my life–for _you_ to have a good life."

"But, Daddy–"

"Regina, not everything needs to be an argument. You're always so dead set on blaming yourself for every last thing. But I've never regretted being your father–not when you were little and not now. Sure, I've made mistakes–and losing your mother's fortune was most certainly one–but there's no changing it, and I've made peace with it." She sighs and looks to Robin, rolling her eyes when he offers her a smug little grin that shows his obvious agreement. "And Robin, while it's kind of you to think of me, if you want me to attend this meeting as a way of making up for what's been lost, you needn't. The allowance from the estate is _more_ than generous, and if you're going to make investments I'd much rather you invest in the future, not the past."

"But that's just it," Robin says. "What I'm doing _is_ about the future and–"

"And so it should benefit your sons, not your father-in-law."

"So, I suppose I'll have to suffer through this investors' meeting alone," Robin says, sighing as he pouts. "Regina's refused and–"

"Papa! Look!"

Robin stops as they all turn to look to Roland who sits crossed-legged on the barn floor, strumming his fingers over the fur of an orange and white cat.

"She's _so_ fat!"

"Well, she's pregnant, you see," Henry says, rising up from the hay bale. "She's going to have kittens."

"Will you keep them?"

Henry nods as he moves to Roland, crouching down. "Most of them," he says. "If they're anything like their mama, they'll be quite good at keeping mice and bugs out of here."

Roland blinks, looking down at the cat beside him. "She catches mice?"

"She does."

"Oh…"

"You seem surprised."

Roland nods, looking up a bit sheepishly. "I can't really, um… picture her… um… doing that." His cheeks flush. "I can't picture her doing much of _anything_ ," he admits, giggling as the cat nudges his hand in an effort to get to him continue petting her. "Other than cuddling."

Regina glances toward Robin, watching as a grin pulls onto his lips as her father crouches down next to Roland. "You know, Roland," he begins, "she doesn't cuddle with just anyone."

"She doesn't?" Roland asked–and Regina watches as this catches Henry's attention and he turns away from the goat eating seeds from his palm. "She seems to like it an awful lot."

"Well, from _some_ people."

Roland grins–practically beams–as he looks down at the cat. "How many kitties will she have?"

"I don't know. Cats usually have four or five."

"Will they be identical? Like… twins?"

"Maybe."

"Will they all be orange?"

"Maybe." Roland looks down at the cat and stokes two fingers between her ears. "Do you know the German word for cat?"

For a moment, Roland considers it–and from the other side of the pen, Henry watches. "Katze!" Roland declares proudly as Henry nods.

"What about kitten? Do you know that word?"

Roland's brow furrows and he looks to the cat, as if she might supply the answer. "We learned it last week," Henry says gently, getting up and rounding the pen to sit beside his brother and grandfather. "It's like katze, but ends different."

Still, the word doesn't come and Henry considers another way to explain, looking briefly to his grandfather as he brightens. "When we are at the hunting lodge we get snickerdoodles from Mrs. Beakley in the…"

"Dining room."

"No," Henry sighs as his grandfather laughs. "Where she _makes_ them."

"Ohhhhh, the kitchen!" Roland giggles as the cat nuzzles his hand. "But cats are kitchens."

"Say it slower. Like Mal said to."

Regina and Robin both laugh as Roland's eyes widen. "Katzchen!"

"Yes!"

She and Robin both laugh, but her father's face turns serious.

"So, boys, tell me, these cookies–"

"Are _so_ good!" Roland supplies. "So, _so_ good."

"I think I'd like to hear more about them–well, the cookies _and_ your German lessons."

The boys both launch into their own explanations, talking fast and talking over each other, and her father chuckles softly as he looks between them in an effort to catch up. All the while the cat nuzzles Roland's hand, and there's something about watching her sons, sitting on the barn floor in front of her father that reminds her of the earliest years of her childhood–the years before she realized just how stuck she was.

"Hey," she whispers, leaning in. "While they're occupied, I want to show you something."

Robin turns, his brow arching as he looks to her, and she grins as her eyes shift to the ladder leading up to the hayloft. Standing, she reaches for his hand, tugging him up and leading him away from the hay bales. She smiles gently as Robin's hand touches her hip as she starts up the ladder–and she makes a conscious effort to push away her mother's voice echoing in her head, clicking her tongue as she tells her how unlady like it is to climb a ladder in a dress or let a man follow her, touching her as Robin is. Then, of course, this is one of the most chaste and innocent things she's done in this particular hayloft.

"This was one of my favorite places as a child, especially this time of year."

"It's warm," Robin says, looking around at the bales of stacked hay. "This would be such a great napping spot."

"It was… and… it was great for, um… other activities."

A grin pulls onto his lips as he shrugs his eyebrows, making her giggle. "It, um… it also has an amazing view." 

"Oh?" Nodding, she moves to the end of the hayloft and unlatches the door, shivering as gust of cool, autumn air sweeps into the loft, pushing her skirt back against her legs and the loose curls off her shoulder, then she turns to Robin just in time to see his eyes widen and his jaw drop. "Ohh, that's magnificent."

"I knew you'd like it," she says, reaching out for his hand and smiling as his fingers touch to her palm, and together, they settle on the hayloft's edge, staring out at the yellow, orange, and red treetops. Robin holds her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as they talk gently about the business meeting he has the following morning with some railway investors. A bit absently, she agrees to accompany him and they make tentative plans for lunch after the dress fitting she doesn't remember agreeing to, and as Robin presses a kiss to her cheek, she wonders just how far their little bubble can extend.


	29. Chapter 29

Robin groans, muttering a low _it's too early for this_ , as he hears his father nearing the dining room, humming a soft tune he can't quite place. His eyes roll as he picks the newspaper back up and takes a renewed interest in it despite that he's already read through it-and he finds momentary solace in the fact that his father enters the room alone.

"No Zelena?"

"No," his father says, in a nearly sing-song voice. "She's prettying herself up. We're going for a ride this morning. It snowed a bit last night, and Zelena wants to see it on the trees before it inevitably melts away."

"Yes," Robin murmurs, as he focuses on a tobacco advertisement that he has no interest in. "I assume that takes a lot of… work for her."

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

Again, Robin groans as his father picks up the tune again. He's never in this good of a mood, especially not this early. The only times he's ever been like this is when an investment's gone well or when he's screwed someone over and made himself a heap of money.

"You normally don't grace us with your presence."

Robin nods as his eyes shift down the page. "Henry's sick, so-"

"Is it contagious?"

Arching his brow, Robin looks up from the paper. "Afraid of catching something?"

"No," Richard scoffs. "I'm long past childhood ailments."

"Ah, right. Only children get-"

"Roland shares a room with that boy and I don't want my heir-"

"Sadly, I am your heir," Robin says, bristling as he looks pointedly at his father. "Roland _and Henry_ are my heirs." He pauses as his jaw tightens. "And if you must know, Roland hasn't been sleeping in the room with him. Regina has. Roland's been with me."

"Ah-"

Rolling his eyes he looks back at the paper, and he wonders if that isn't a part of his sour mood.

For the past three nights, he's slept in his old bedchamber with Roland. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd selected that room and not just brought him into his and Regina's bed, but it hardly mattered now. He found it difficult to adjust to not having her at his side and though Regina had teased him about having more room in the bed to get comfortable, Roland was a wild sleeper, and more times than not, he awoke in the middle of the night to a swift kick in the stomach or Roland's hand plastered to his face.

Regina had been sleeping with Henry-and she would until the boy's fever broke.

He found it endearing watching her care for Henry-though, he always loved watching her with the boys.

Henry's illness was nothing serious-a head cold and a slight fever-and Doctor Whale assured them he'd be well enough in a few days. But Regina wasn't one to simply let nature take its course. Before the doctor had even made it off of Sherwood's property, Regina and Mal had Roland stripped down and slathered him with some sort of herbal ointment Mal had made while Dr. Whale was examining Henry. Mal opened up the windows while Regina dressed Roland in fresh clothes, and no sooner than his shoes were buckled, he was sent out of the room, complaining that whatever they'd put on him made him smell like dirt.

And as Robin laid with him that same night, he couldn't help but agree.

Over the course of the next couple of days, Regina had been entirely focused on nursing Henry back to health.

Though he hated to see Henry sick, watching Regina care for him made his heart warm-and it reminded him of those first few interactions they had. He remembered the day he'd gone to Dragon Head to ask for her hand in marriage, remembering how he'd stood in the library watching her play with her son on the lawn and how the two of them seemed completely in their own little world. And when she'd first come to Sherwood, Regina spent all of her time in the nursery. She got down on the floor and played with blocks, she hid in closets and behind chairs as they played games of hide-and-seek, and she curled up by the fire reading both boys tall tales as they drifted to sleep. It wasn't lost on him how quickly Roland had taken to her nor was it a surprise. She'd filled in a void for him where Marian should have been-and she'd done it so effortlessly.

It'd been somewhere between that first moment when he'd watched her at Dragon Head and one spring day when he'd found his new wife cuddling his sick son and singing him lullabies to comfort him that he'd realized he was in love with her. Before that, it'd been the idea that he _could_ love her-he certainly liked her-but the more he saw of her with their sons, the more his feelings solidified into something real. Still though, he couldn't quite pinpoint it. It'd just happened-and he liked the mystery and suddenness of it. It seemed fitting for them and the way their marriage came to be.

When Regina was with their sons, she seemed very much in her element. She was a natural mother and it was a role she took quite seriously. When she was with them, she seemed to forget all the pretense that governed her. Normally, she was so concerned about appearances-what people would think if she laughed too loudly or said the wrong thing, how they'd judge her if she offered an unpopular opinion or attended a party someone else thought she shouldn't; but when she was with their sons, all that went away. She was more relaxed, more casual even, and instead of a stylish dress that was carefully chosen and her hair done up, she wore a plain blue dress with a white apron tied around her hips. Her hair was pulled back in a long, and somewhat messy, braid that she'd done herself.

Regina spent the day dictating Henry's every move-his meals contained lots of broths and teas, he took baths and was lathered up in oils, and between naps she read him stories and played card games with him. Robin ducked in occassionally, but he always seemed to pop in while Henry was asleep-and, of course, between his lessons, he had Roland to entertain. Her nights were spent at Henry's bedside, sleeping in a rocker, just in case his fever returned or he felt sick in the middle of the night. And as laborious as all that was, it kept her distracted, and that, in an odd way, relaxed her.

But he missed her, and thought it'd just been a couple of days and it was temporary and even though he still saw her throughout the day, it was oddly reminiscent of his life before her-and he hated it.

"Whose carriage did I just see driving off? Who visits anyone before nine o'clock in the morning?"

"Mr. Scarlett," Robin answers in a disinterested voice as a little gasp escapes his father. "It's nothing to concern you."

"Mr. Scarlett is-"

"Helping Regina and me with-"

"Regina," Richard scoffs. "I might've known."

"Yes," Robin replies, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps you might've if you ever took the time to get to know her."

"I don't-"

"She's got a mind for business. She's smart and-"

"Ohh," Richard cuts in, his face crumpling with disgust. "I know _exactly_ the type of business that woman knows. We all do. And if you think it's appropriate for-"

"As I said," Robin interjects, his voice rising over his father's. "You've never taken the time to get to know her." He pauses, and for a moment, he considers just leaving it there-but his father's inability to see past one, minute detail of her past life grates at him. It'd be one thing if Regina wasn't so bothered by it; but she was, and for her to have to live in a house where how she responded at her lowest moment in life was constantly the measure of her character, was simply unfair. "She had an idea. I ran with it, and now Mr. Scarlett is helping us manage the profits."

Richard's eyes narrow and his interest shifts-as they always do when any conversation turns to money. "Profits. Profit from what?"

"An investment-"

"And what does Mr. Scarlett have to do with that? He manages-"

"He dabbles in other things," Robin says coyly. "As I said, Regina had an idea, I proposed it to Mr. Scarlett, and it worked out quite nicely for the three of us."

Richard scoffs. "Any profitable investment you make is an investment Sherwood makes."

"Not this one. This one doesn't concern the estate, or you."

"Of course it does! Any investment this estate makes concerns me. That's how estates like ours work! I know you've never taken much of an interest in-"

"Not this one," Robin interjects, still focused on the paper and wishing he'd have excused himself earlier.

"Sherwood is _my_ -"

" _Sherwood_ didn't make the investment. I did," Robin cooly replies, glancing up from the paper and watching his father's face begin to redden. "I didn't take money from the estate. I borrowed against my return. Had it failed, I'd have been in trouble and had to involve the estate, but it didn't fail, so the estate remains separate from it."

Clearing his throat, he shrugs, not wanting to get into the details of the investment or why he was so keen to take the risk-though, now that the risk was behind him, it seemed so small. But his father wouldn't see that, he'd only perseverate on the _what ifs_ -and he'd never been one to push the boundaries of the status quo. Still, he wouldn't see the investment for what it was-a brilliant opportunity that could potentially lead to him and Regina living a life independent from Sherwood, or perhaps, maybe he did and maybe that's what scared him most.

Nonetheless, it didn't matter and it didn't involve him. "So, as I said, my meeting with Mr. Scarlett doesn't concern you because it doesn't concern the estate."

Richard mutters something underneath his breath as he sits back in his chair, looking aghast as he looks around the empty dining room. "Where the hell are the footmen?"

"I told them they could attend to other things. No need for four of them to stand here and watch me eat."

Richard's jaw tightens as he looks pointedly back to Robin. "And who will serve _me_?"

Rolling his eyes, Robin reaches forward, touching his fingers to a plate of sausages, and as a snide little grin edges across his face, he gives the dish a little shove that sends it toward his father. "I believe you have a fork set down beside your plate and trust you know how to use it."

His father's eyes widen. "You've lost your mind. This isn't how-"

"I understand the point of estates like ours," Robin cuts in sharply, "so, spare me the lecture. But there's a difference between being a good employer who meets the needs to the village he lords over and being an entitled, self-important man." Setting down the paper, Robin rises. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but sickness has swept through the house. Henry isn't the only one who has taken ill. Four maids and two footmen have had to work through it which only spreads it around, and if the cook gets it, we're all in trouble. So, yes, I allowed the footmen a bit of time off to rest. It seemed the least I could do."

Again his father's jaw tightens as his eyes narrow, and it looks as if he wants to argue-and on another day, he might engage, but today he had other plans.

He gets up gingerly, offering a tight smile he knows will make his father stew as he tosses down the newspaper-and then, he doesn't give his father or the estate another thought.

Regina smiles as she turns to the door, all the while keeping a cool rag on Henry's forehead. "Hey, you."

"Good morning to you both."

"G'morning," Henry murmurs, lifting his head slightly. "Is Roland with you?"

"No," Robin tells him, frowning slightly. "He didn't get a good night's sleep, so I let him sleep in."

"Oh-"

"Still kicking?"

"All night," Robin sighs. "I'm fairly certain my stomach is bruised." His eyes shift to Henry as he sits down on the edge of the boy's bed. "I think he misses you."

"I miss him," Henry says, his eyes hooded as they shift from Robin to Regina. "Sometimes, we get up and play with-"

"Henry-"

"I know. We're supposed to sleep. But it's not like we're tired in the morning."

"And they'll still take a nap," Robin says, offering Henry a quick wink as he grabs his foot and gives it a little squeeze. "And you're telling me," he says, looking to Regina, "you never did that as a child? Got up and played with your toys or-"

"I wasn't allowed to have toys in my nursery."

Henry frowns. "Grandmother sounds like terribly fun mum."

Regina laughs, shaking her and remember that when she was Henry's age, her bedtime came before dark. Her father would come in, though, usually after dinner with puppets-one of which was a witch made from a purple fabric that looked mysteriously like one of her mother's dresses that'd gone missing-and he'd tell her stories that lasted hours. The older she got, the longer the stories seemed to last, and once she was too old for bedtime stories and puppet shows, her father would look away as she snuck out of her bedroom. She'd end up in the stables, playing card games with Daniel and Mal as Daniel's grandfather made his final rounds of the stables, and she remembers the disheartened sigh whenever her father would appear telling her that now, it really was bedtime.

"Something tells me," Robin murmurs, leaning in toward Henry, "the word fun has never once been associated with your grandmother."

"Yes, it has," Henry says, pulling himself up on his elbows. "Grandpapa says fun is what she kills, that she does it for sport."

"As you might've guessed, his fever seems to have broken and he's feeling a bit better."

"Yes," Robin laughs as Henry lays back, blinking a few times. "That's quite clear, but he still looks tired."

"He needs rest," Regina agrees, dabbing the cloth over Henry's forehead again. "But the worst of it's finally over for him."

"Does that mean Roland can come back?"

Regina grins, offering a quick wink. "Perhaps."

"Speaking of Roland," Mal says, coming through the door that connects her room to the nursery. "Where is he?" She looks between them and they look at each other. "I assumed he was with-"

"He's not in my old room? That's where I left him."

"I just checked. He's not."

Regina looks to Robin, his eyes widening. "You lost him?"

"I didn't _lose_ him," Robin sighs. "I… misplaced him… because he wandered off…"

"After he was left unattended."

"He was asleep!"

Henry giggles. "I bet he's in the kitchen."

"Why would he have-"

"Cookies."

Robin grins and Regina feels her shoulders relax-that seems plausible enough.

"Why don't you two go and find Roland before the kitchen maids start slapping his hands and I'll watch-"

"You're looking for Master Roland?" They all look up at one of the maids-a newer girl who hasn't quite picked up on the way Sherwood works, and therefore, has yet to give Regina attitude or even as much as a snide glare-comes in with clean linens for Henry's bed. "He's just sit down to breakfast."

Regina watches as Robin's brow furrows. "Sat down to breakfast-"

"-on his own?" she asks, looking to the maid. "In the-"

"With my father."

Regina looks back to him. "Oh-"

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence hovers in the air as she stares at Robin and Mal directs the maid to put away the washed linens on a particular shelf in the wardrobe. Roland sitting down to breakfast with his grandfather shouldn't be upsetting to her and it shouldn't be something that made her worry; yet, for some reason, it did.

Richard didn't interact much with Roland. He wasn't the sort of man who enjoyed the company of children-especially not small ones-and whenever Roland was around, Richard seemed annoyed. He barely made an effort to talk him and never played with him-he just wasn't that sort of grandfather. Yet, at that same time, Richard took an interest in the boy. He bought him things-an expensive jeweled pocket watch, a bronze sculpture of a horse, a property in the city-but they were never things that Roland wanted or could enjoy. Instead, they pointed to wealth and status-thing that were important to Richard-and when Roland didn't show the excitement or gratitude Richard expected, he became critical. He always blamed her-her, and then Robin-for how Roland was being raised, making it seem as if the boy was uneducated and uncouth, instead of simply a five-year old. He criticized their choices when it came to Roland's education, and on more occasions than she could count, expressed his desire for Roland to be sent away to an expensive school where he'd be trained by the best teachers and meet peers who'd grow up to be lords of massive estates. He loved to talk about how Sherwood would one day be his, and he couldn't understand why that was such an abstract concept for Roland-again, something he used to fault her parenting.

When Richard was annoyed, he yelled-and the more he yelled, the more withdrawn Roland became. Even without the yelling, Roland was uncomfortable in his grandfather's company, and usually by the end of it, he was in tears.

Slowly, Regina stands. "I, um... I think I'm just going to go down and check-"

"I'll come, too," Robin says, rising up from the bed and looking just as alarmed as she feels. "Just to check."

"Take my dragon." Both she and Robin look to Henry watching as his eyes flutter open and he offers them a tight grin. "He likes my dragon. It makes him feel better."

"That's kind," Robin says, grinning as he leans in to pluck the stuffed toy from Henry's bed-and in spite of the uneasiness in her stomach, Regina can't help but smile as Robin drops a kiss to Henry's forehead before tucking the dragon beneath his arm.

"Will you-"

"Of course I'll watch him," Mal says, grinning as she cuts in. "Sometimes I think the two of you forget that's what you pay me to do."

Regina smiles and nods as Robin leads her into the hallway. She draws in a breath as his fingers curl down around hers, and her stomach lurches a bit a the quickness of his step, giving her own uneasiness some credibility.

"I know I shouldn't worry about-"

"I don't like him spending time alone with my father. It upsets him."

"I know he doesn't mean to-"

"He makes no effort _not_ to upset him. To him, Roland is just another symbol of his status. He's not a little boy, he's a possession." Regina frowns, thinking of the way she dreaded the time directly after tea when her mother would request her presence. "And Zelena was supposed to be joining him as well."

"Oh," Regina murmurs, her eyes sinking closed. "I really wish she'd find someone else to latch onto."

Robin grins back at her from over her shoulder. "Perhaps we should set her up. Perhaps we can pawn her off on some unfortunate Spanish prince or-"

"She did fancy the Bavarian prince I was supposed to marry."

"Wasn't he your father's age?"

"Older," she sighs, laughing a little. "She has a type."

"I am having the strangest sense of dèja vu. I think we've discussed this before. The vague nausea is familiar."

Rolling her eyes, Regina shakes her head. "It's not a bad idea, though, finding someone richer to distract her." Robin doesn't laugh though; instead he looks uncomfortable. Her brow furrows slightly, but before she can ask about it, they're at the dining room, and just as they suspected, Roland is sitting at the table with Richard and Zelena.

Roland can barely see over the table and the fork in his hand is too big, both of which are making it a struggle for him to eat-and she's bothered by the fact that no one is helping him. Robin sighs, muttering something she doesn't quite catch under his breath-instead, she's focused on Zelena's laugh. It's a quiet sort of laugh and doesn't seem to be a response to anything in particular, but instead a reflection of her enjoyment at playing house.

Regina bristles as her jaw tightens and her eyes fix on Roland, still struggling to reach his food.

Richard asks something in a low voice and Roland frowns in reply-then, in a deeper voice Richard tells him he's been asked a question, reminding him that it's rude to ignore someone when they're speaking. Roland's bottom lip pouts out as he looks up at his grandfather, then looks to Zelena.

"Would you like to go for a walk later on this morning?" Zelena coos as she leans in toward him. "Wouldn't that be great fun?"

"No," Roland replies clearly, his brow crumpling. "It looks cold out."

"Roland," Richard warns. "It's rude to-"

"I want my mama."

"Well, unfortunately, that's not a request any of us can grant." Regina feels her chest tighten and, momentarily, her eyes press closed as she draws in a short breath. "Your presence was requested on a walk and-"

"But I don't _want_ to go for a walk," Roland whines, dropping down his fork. "I _want_ to have my breakfast and read stories with my mama!"

"Well, your mother is dead," Richard snaps. "So, there's no use in-"

Regina's in the dining room before she even realizes that she's taken a step, and Robin is right behind her. She feels her cheeks burning as she strides toward the table, earning a gasp from both Robin and Zelena.

"How dare you talk to him that way," she scolds. "He's just a little boy."

"His age hardly excuses rudeness. Perhaps if he were being raised better, none of this would be an issue."

"Regina," Zelena interjects in a condescending tone. "Richard only wants to spend time with his-"

"He wasn't rude. He only said that he doesn't want to go outside for a walk," she says, cutting in and elevating her voice over Zelena's. "Besides, that's not what I was referring to."

Roland offers a nervous little grin as he looks between her and his grandfather. Even he knows that the notion that she might not be a mother to him is a sore subject. Normally, she's more respectful of it, understanding Marian's place in the hearts of the Locksley men; but this time, it doesn't seem like it's about Marian at all. Instead, it seems like a reminder of _her_ place-and she hates that Richard tries to put such ideas in Roland's head.

"Richard," Zelena says in a nearly sing-song whisper that's not unlike the one she addresses Roland with. "Why don't we go. She's clearly in hysterics. Perhaps the sickness sweeping through the house has found her. Those sorts of things do target those weak in faith, you know."

"Can't you see that he's uncomfortable?" she asks, ignoring her father-in-law's lack of response and ignoring Zelena's presence entirely. "He can barely reach his plate, so he hasn't eaten any of his breakfast, and _no one_ in this room bothered to help." She looks between Richard and Zelena, then pointedly at the two footmen standing beside the buffet. "It's cold. Sickness is spreading through this house like wildfire, and you want to take him outside for a walk? And do what? Ignore him? Scold him? Tell him he's rude when he shivers?" Holding out her hand, she shakes her head, softening as her eyes fall on Roland. "Come on, sweetheart. We'll get you some breakfast and a sweater and-"

"A story?" Roland asks, blinking up at her expectantly as his face brightens. "I've missed your bedtime stories."

Richard scoffs at that, but she smiles nonetheless, ignoring him. "How about…" Her voice trails off as Roland's fingers fold around her hand. "How about a story for every night you've spent out of the nursery?"

"That's _three_ ," Roland whispers, grinning as she helps him down from the chair-and it's only as she turns that she remembers Robin is there with her. Robin is wearing a proud little smirk and it looks like he's holding back the urge to laugh, and though she could choose to feel annoyed that he didn't jump to her defense, she decides that she's grateful for a husband who lets her speak her mind. "Papa, are you coming, too?"

"Um. no," Robin murmurs, looking down at his son. "I think I want to stay and have a little chat with your grandfather."

Robin offers a quick wink as she hoists Roland onto her hip-and as she carries him out of the dining room, Robin follows behind, just long enough to watch her and Roland start up the stairs. Then, when they're about half way, the dining room doors close and she hears a very muffled _What the hell is wrong with you_ fly from her husband's mouth.

When he finds Regina and Roland, they're in their bedchamber. Regina is sitting in a chair by the fire with Roland cuddled up on her chest, and a big, thick blanket covers them both. There's a fire crackling at the hearth and the storybook that Regina usually reads at bedtime is folded on her knee-and it appears that Roland barely made it through the first story.

"Is he asleep?"

Regina nods. "He was tired. He says you snore."

"And what do you say?

She grins. "That he's right. You do."

Robin shakes his head as he comes closer. "You've never complained." Regina just shrugs and looks back to Roland, her hand rubbing circles overtop the blanket. "I suppose it's good to know that neither of us are sleeping."

"Well, if Henry's fever doesn't come back, I suppose you'll both get a good night's sleep tonight." A smirk edges onto his lips. "How, um… how did the conversation go after Roland and I left?"

Robin's eyes roll. "About the same as when you were there."

"Ah-"

"I don't know why he has to be so callous."

"He doesn't like me," Regina says a bit too dismissively. "I doubt I'll ever change his mind."

"Regina-"

"He doesn't _have_ to like me," she says easily, grinning back at him. "As long as you do."

"I do," he's quick to tell her. "I like you quite a bit."

"I just… I just wish he wouldn't speak ill of me to Roland. He's young and impressionable and-"

"-and he loves you very much."

Regina nods and looks back to Roland. "I just worry that one day the truth about me will come spilling out and all the terrible things he's heard about me will come flooding back and-"

"That's not going to happen."

"We can't control-"

"No, no," he cuts in. "I'm not denying that one day our sons might learn the details of your life before our marriage. Unfortunately, that's out of our control. But it's a long time coming, if it ever comes, and by then they'll have a lifetime of memories to counter it."

Regina nods and gives him a half-hearted smile-she doesn't quite believe that, though it's clear she'd like to, and there's little point in arguing over what-ifs and maybes.

"Don't mind me," she murmurs after awhile. "I'm just a bit stir crazy." She grins. "This is the first I've even been out of the nursery in days, and this isn't much different."

Robin brightens at the opportunity to shift the subject. "Then let's change that."

"You have something in mind," she says, grinning softly. "But I don't know if I should leave-"

"As Mal keeps pointing out, we pay her to look after our boys. Henry's napping and past the worst of it, Roland is apparently exhausted from all my snoring, and you could clearly use a couple of hours away." Her brow arches as he stands. "I've got a few things to attend to in town. Why don't you come along?"

"I don't-"

"Regina, it'll be a couple of hours. At most."

She considers it for a moment, biting down on her lip. "What do you have to do?"

"Just a follow up to a meeting."

Her brow arches. "The meeting that wasn't with Mr. Gold."

"No, the meeting with Mr. Scarlett," he says, sighing. "Remember, you were supposed to be there and-"

"Oh. Right. That was today."

Robin nods. "That was today."

Regina's eyes narrow, but she grins. "It's just so odd that Gold was here. Maybe-"

"Maybe you were mistaken," Robin says, trying not to bristle. He'd like to keep this afternoon light, and if possible, cast away any thoughts of Gold or any dealings he might have with him-and he certainly doesn't want her to know that he, too, is concerned about Gold being at Sherwood that morning. "Carriages are-"

"No one else in their right mind outfits their horses in gold barding like he's marching them off to defend the Byzantine Empire from the Turks during the Crusades."

Robin blinks. "That's… a fair point, but if he was here, it has nothing to do with me."

"So, that leaves-"

"Quite a few questions that we likely won't find answers to right now."

"Why are you putting me off?"

"I'm not," he lies. "I just… I want to spend a nice afternoon with you. I miss you. I miss talking and laughing and-" A grin pulls onto her lips. "And I don't want to think about unpleasant things today."

"Fine, but-"

"Does that mean you'll accompany me?" Robin asks, cutting in in a hopeful voice. "Because-"

"Yes. I'll come, as long as Mal doesn't mind watching the boys."

"You know she won't."

"I know," Regina admits, grinning. "Just let me put him down in the nursery and get dressed-"

"You look-"

"Like I've spent the past few days playing nurse. I won't be long."

Robin nods. "How about I take him, then?"

Regina offers a reluctant little sigh before nodding, and carefully transfers Roland into his arms. Roland doesn't move, aside from his head falling to Robin's shoulder and Regina leans in and kisses his messy hair before turning into the dressing room to change-and as he carries his son to the nursery, he ignores the queasy feeling in his stomach and stops himself just short of regretting ever going to see Rupert Gold.

Getting away from Sherwood refreshes her.

Despite the cold, they take the scenic route into town. They talk lightly at first, filling each other in on all of the mundane occurrences over the past couple of days and trading anecdotal stories about their sons. She laughs when Robin elaborates on the restless nights he shared with Roland, and she blushes when he confesses that he found it difficult to unwind without her beside him.

They move on quickly to more serious topics and she listens intently as Robin fills her in on his meeting with Will Scarlett-and as he goes on, it's hard to stifle her smile.

She hadn't been at all sure of herself when she suggested it-and to be honest, she had no idea what Robin was going to do with her answer or why he wanted to know, so she'd just said the first thing that came to mind-but in the first weeks of their marriage when they'd first started meeting to discuss the estate, she had no idea that his intentions were sincere. At the time, she thought he was simply being kind; after all, everyone knew the Locksleys had done well for themselves, that their estate was growing, and she had every reason to think that the younger Mr. Locksley was just as shrewd at managing the estate's finances as the elder. Then, their conversations seemed as if they were merely a way to make her feel involved and valued; she never imagined that he actually cared about her opinions. She thought he merely wanted to extend an olive branch and set the tone for their union.

But looking back, she saw it differently.

There'd been a glint in his eyes when he'd asked her what she'd invest in if money were infinite and risk wasn't a factor-and he'd nodded along as she explained the steam engine seemed ready to change the world. Locomotives were, of course, dangerous, but improving every year-and she easily saw a world connected by railway in her own lifetime.

It was the silly thing her father might have said-he was always making risky investment in the latest technology, most of which flopped horribly-and it seemed a sure way to lose a fortune. But Robin disagreed and asked to hear more of her thoughts, and she'd hesitated momentarily before spilling all that she knew about the topic. She talked about the speed of the engines and how finding the right formula to successfully run a train would happen sooner rather than later, and she talked about how exciting it'd be to be on the cusp of something so exciting and life-altering, how even the farthest parts of the country could be connected to the center.

Her cheeks flushed when he chuckled softly, and she'd been fully prepared for him to tell her that her ideas were outlanding and silly, that locomotives transported coal, not people or that a transcontinental railroad would rip up the countryside and ruin the earth-but he admitted he'd had similar thoughts ever since Blenkinsop had built a function locomotive that could transport merchandise, he'd thought the transporting of people was inevitable.

They'd laughed together and agreed to discuss it again, and once more, she was sure that the topic would be dropped-but the next week, Robin presented her with an advertisement. A man named Stephenson hoped to link some of the larger villages-Manchester to Liverpool, all of London-and was looking for investors. She'd chewed nervously on her lip as he'd asked her to help him pen a letter to a man named Will Scarlett, who worked for Stephenson, and that had been that…

"He's meeting with some chap from Berlin-"

"Berlin?"

Robin nods. "Someone who worked for the Royal Berlin Iron Foundry. Says he can build a track."

"Here? Not there?"

"Here, in Stockton," Robin confirms. "He left there for… some reason." Robin shrugs as she looks over at him. "I don't know why and I don't particularly care. What I _do_ care about is _this_."

Regina watches as he rummages through his pocket, grinning triumphantly as he pulls out a scrap of paper. She blinks as he holds it between two fingers and extends it to her. "And what is _this_?"

"Look."

Her eyes narrow as she unfolds the paper. "Alri-oh." Her eyes widen as she looks at the number, written in pencil on the paper. "Is this…" She looks to Robin. "What is this?"

"That's our cut of Stephenson's last patent."

"Just our cut? Not-"

"Just ours," he beams. "And they'll only get bigger from here."

Swallowing, she looks back at the paper scrap. "Robin, this is more than-"

"Expected," he supplies as her voice falters. "I know. Quite a lot more, too."

Nodding, she hands him back the paper scrap and her stomach flutters. She hadn't imaged the returns to be as large as they'd been, but it seemed the more steam locomotives became safer and more reliable, the more possibilities for their use opened up, and the more return there was on their initial investment. If things kept up as they were, they'd soon match the sizable sum her parents had set aside from her dowry-and if they kept up beyond that, their investments would outgrow the money her father had lost and possibly even the amount his father had contributed, over his whole lifetime, to the estate.

"So, you continued."

"Yes," he says easily. "I reinvested it almost all again."

"Almost all-"

Robin nods. "I spread our investment out a bit."

"Oh?" Regina murmurs as Robin looks to her an grins as their carriage rounds the bend and edges toward town. "And… that has nothing to do with Mr. Gold?" Regina laughs a little as his eyes narrow and roll. "You know I'm not going to let this go."

"But I wish you would," he sighs, bristling a little. "I don't have any information to supply you. It's… a moot point to bring up." And then, a grin twists onto his lips. "I'd rather talk about how Will and I bought a coal mine."

"A coal mine," she repeats, her eyes widening slightly. "You mean-"

"If these locomotives really take off, we could be a supplier."

"Oh… wow… I hadn't-" She blinks. "I hadn't really thought of that."

"It's up north."

"Oh-"

"Near the lodge," he tells her, his eyes shining as his brows wiggle. "So, perhaps when we go up at the end of the month, we could check it out."

"I'd like that," she tells him with an earnest nod-and then her brow arches. "But you're keeping something from me and I think it's about Gold."

Her stomach lurches as he looks away from her, and her head spins with possibilities that make her regret pushing at the subject.

"I hired him," he confesses in a low voice, carefully keeping his eyes ahead on the path. "He wasn't there to see me, but I did hire him."

"Oh," Regina murmurs. "Why?"

Again, there's a long pause and then, Robin looks over at her. "Zelena."

"Zelena."

He nods. "She's up to something. I don't know what. I can't quite connect the dots, but it's more than... the comforts a man of my father's position can bring her. This isn't about getting to live in a great house and attend soirees where she can wear expensive things or finding some unsuspecting sap to bankroll of the lavish lifestyle she thinks herself entitled. This is different." He looks back to the path. "I… I'm worried it's… more."

"But… that's what she does. It's what she always does. She latches on until-"

"I'm worried this time it concerns you."

"Me? Well, it's obvious she's lost all-"

"Regina, she kissed me."

"What?" Her stomach flops and her mouth goes dry. "She… she kissed you? When? Why didn't-"

"I shouldn't have kept it from you, but-"

"No, you shouldn't have," she cuts in, her voice rising as her cheeks burn, and she actively has to remind herself that her upset shouldn't be directed at him. "Why did you?" she asks, her voice calmer as she fidgets with her fingers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I just… I don't know what she's up to, exactly, and I didn't want you to confront her and… and her have the upper hand and… do something to you."

"Do something?" Regina scoffs. "I don't think there's anything else she could do that-"

"You don't know that," he cuts in. "You didn't see her that night-"

"When she kissed you-"

"Yes," he sighs. "I'd never seen her look that way. She's always been snide and stuck up, but this was different. She was almost manic-crazed, like-you could see it in her eyes."

"She gets like that when she wants something."

"But am _I_ what she wants? She'd barely given me the time of day before then and why would she risk my father finding out?"

"Maybe she didn't think he would," Regina suggest, her voice almost hushed as her stomach flops. "I wonder-"

"She _timed_ it, Regina," Robin tells her, cutting in and looking over at her with eyes full of concern. "She made sure that we were caught." Pressing her eyes closed, she sighs-that's why maids were talking about him kissing someone else and that's why she smelled someone else's perfume on him that night. "And… I don't know that you were her target."

"What?" she asks, her eyes fluttering open as her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

Robin shrugs, sighing loudly as his head falls back a bit. "I wish I knew."

"Oh…"

"So, that's why I went to Gold. I wanted to… find something on her."

"And?"

Robin shrugs. "I have to meet with him later on today in some seedy little tavern on the outskirts of town." Her lips part, ready to insist that she should come along, but Robin shakes his head knowingly and she frowns. "I don't want you near him. He's dangerous and-"

"Strength in numbers?"

"That's a rule for debutantes going to the powder room."

Bristling, she sits back as they start toward Main Street. "But I-"

"No," he cuts in as a smile twists onto his lips. "Besides, you've another errand to run."

"I do?" she asks, her brow cocked as she looks back at him. "And what errand is that?"

"You need to go see Ruby and order something for Mary Margaret Blanchard's ball."

"Oh, Robin, I don't think we should-"

"I want to go," he cuts in. "I want to go and spend a night drinking and dancing with you, making all the other poor chaps jealous."

"You'll hardly make anyone jealous."

"I beg to differ. I just happen to be married to the prettiest-"

"Flattery won't make me forget about your meeting with Gold or-"

"You're not going," he says firmly. "Instead, you're going to pick out some fabric and have Ruby make it into some dress you'll make look stunning and-"

Regina folds her arms over her chest and frowns. "This is so patronizing."

Robin sighs. "I don't mean to be patronizing, but the simple truth is that I don't want to give that man any leverage over me, and if he catches a glimpse between us, he'll know exactly how much you mean to me." Regina's eyes roll as their carriage pulls up in front of Granny Lucas's dress shop. "And truth be told, the fact that he was near Sherwood and I don't know why makes me a bit nervous as it is."

"That's still incredibly patronizing," she murmurs. "But Belle did give me something to give to Ruby, so you win… this time."

Robin presses a kiss to her cheek before jumping down from the carriage, offering her his hand as he helps her down and presses a kiss to her cheek, suggesting they'll rendezvous for luncheon at the tavern by the park. Then, just after she kisses him back, she grins and nods and agrees that a lunch of anything other than broth shared with Henry sounds lovely.

As she makes her way to the door, she watches as he starts down Main Street again, then rounds the corner, leading the carriage away from town-and with a wistful sigh, she puts on a smile and pushes away all thoughts of Rupert Gold.

Granny Lucas smiles at her as the door opens and the bell attached to it jingles, and she holds her breath as another customer looks away. Guilt pangs at her core as the woman pulls her hand away from a spool of fabric, and she looks away as the woman skirts past her, making a hasty exit.

"I'm sor-"

"Never mind it ," Granny says, shaking her head. "She always orders things on the cheap, then complains until we take more off. Always trying to get something for nothing. Good riddance, I say." Regina offers a weak little smile as she turns and watches the woman hurrying down the street, hating that the Lucas' lost business because of her. "What brings you in today?"

"Oh, I, um… I have something for Ruby."

"Ah, well, she's in the back fixing a hem," Granny tells her, smiling gently. "You're more than welcome to go back, or I can deliver-"

"No," Regina murmurs, her smile brightening a bit. "I promised this would be personally delivered."

Granny laughs softly and grins, directing her to the back work room-and Regina feels a slight bit of relief when the bell on the door jingles again as another customer enters, hopefully replacing any sale they might've made when the last customer left.

She lingers in the doorway, watching as Ruby sews. The fabric is lace and it looks so delicate and she doesn't want to catch her off-guard, so she just stands there watching as she weaves the thread through the lace-and she offers a sheepish laugh when Ruby's eyes slowly turn up to meet hers.

"I didn't expect you," she says. "Usually Belle writes or-"

"Oh, but that's why I'm here."

Ruby's smile fades. "Is she alright? I know she's been sick and-"

"She's fine," Regina's quick to say. "Or, she will be." Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she pulls out a little envelope that's held closed with some twine. "She wanted me to bring this to you."

"So, you're here as a courier for your maid?"

"Something like that."

Ruby brightens as Regain extends the envelope and takes a few steps into the workroom. She gets up and meets her half way, taking the envelope and rubbing her fingers along its edges-and as Ruby takes in Belle's letter, Regina stares at lace on the sewing table.

"Do you… sell that lace?"

"What?" Ruby asks, turning back and watching as Regina touches her fingers to it. "Oh, yes. Now we do. I ordered it from Italy for a wedding dress, but turns out, it's only going to be used for the veil. And the first one I made was too long."

Regina nods, her stomach fluttering as a smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "So, if you have enough for a dress, you certainly have enough for a robe."

Ruby nods. "It pairs nicely as an overlay with quite a few different-"

"No," Regina cuts in. "I just want the lace."

"Just the lace," Ruby says slowly, looking to the thin fabric. "But it's practically-" Regina's cheeks flush Ruby's voice halts as she suddenly understands-and then, the two of them dissolve into a fit of awkward giggles.


	30. Chapter 30

Regina's still giggling as she makes her way out of the back room and already she can hear Ruby's sewing machine whirring. Her cheeks are warm with embarrassment and she's tingly with excitement. She's never been one to shy away from imprudent behaviors; in fact, most people who'd known her long enough would say she gravitated toward them. More times than not, she acted on feeling, doing what felt right in the moment, consequences be damned. But even then, she kept it to herself, involving only those who were absolutely necessary. In front of others, she was proper and dignified.

So, asking Ruby's assistance in seducing her husband was a bit out of her comfort zone, but not so far removed that she couldn't bring herself to do it or be excited about the result.

The lace she'd selected for the robe had a pretty pattern of fleur de lis and she picked a red satin ribbon to trim the edges. Ruby sketched out a design with bishop sleeves and suggested using the red ribbon as cuffs, but she'd held her breath and shook her head, explaining she wanted the sleeves to be less confining. Ruby blinked, and for a moment just stared at her as understanding set in, and as her cheeks turned pink, Regina bit down on her bottom lip and looked away as Ruby stammer through an awkward _so trumpet sleeves would be better, then_.

When the sketch was complete, Ruby took her measurements to ensure the robe would fit more snugly than her dresses, and she could barely look at her when she told her she'd had to measure her bust… without barriers. Slowly, Ruby helped her out of her dress, then locked the door as Regina stepped up onto the stool before the mirror. Her hands trembled as Ruby measured, barely making eye-contact as she did so—and then every now and then, one of them would erupt in giggles and set the other off.

In the end, though, she was happy with the decisions they made. The lace would pool around her feet with a chapel-style train. The robe would be snug around her shoulders and breasts, then taper away from her body, in almost shapeless form once it reached her hips. The mid-section was a bit more fitted and the ribbon would be sewn along the edge with another going the opposite way to create a sash to close up the robe, if she chose to—a feature she had no intentions of using, at least not for their assumed purpose.

But of course, she couldn't actually bring herself to admit that particular detail.

Ruby helped her back into her dress, fastening up the back as she explained that once the lace was cut, it wouldn't take long to make—after all, she was simply trimming fabric and sewing in darts. She held her breath as Ruby told her she could probably have it to her that very evening—and that set her heart aflutter.

She offered a sincere thanks as her cheeks flushed. Ruby just smiled and nodded and thanked her for delivering Belle's letters. Then, as she made her way out of the backroom, she grinned as Ruby tore open the first letter, losing herself in Belle's note and no longer thinking about their awkward exchange.

Now, she stands at the back of the shop, watching as Robin leans against the counter and chats with Granny Lucas.

For a moment, all she can do is stand there and watch.

He's smiling in that charming way that often makes her blush—fidgeting with a bobbin as he talks about her nimble fingers and incredible talent—and she giggles softly to herself at the realization that he's _flirting_.

Robin says something that can't quite make out, but it elicits a hearty laugh from Granny, and again, a giggle bubbles up from her chest as Granny swats at his arm, obviously enjoying whatever he's said.

She catches Robin's gaze and he offers her a quick wink before looking back to Granny and whispering something low.

"You're a lucky one, you know that?" Granny calls as she crosses the room toward them. "You got a good egg for yourself."

"I know it," Regina says as she reaches them. A grin draws onto her lips as Robin links his arm through hers. "I think I'll keep him."

Robin offers a laugh as he murmurs a _Thanks_ , and Granny nods, her eyes still fixed on Robin.

"I don't usually like it when my customers bring in their husbands," Granny says, slowly looking from Robin to Regina. "There aren't many places around here that are a woman's place, and I like this to be one."

"Of course—"

"Most of the time men come in here nosing around and—" Granny's voice halts and she laughs. "Well, that doesn't much matter. The point is, I like when _you_ come in." Regina grins as Robin beams. "There's not many men who _flatter_ me."

Robin's brow arches. "Well, I can't imagine why."

"Oh, I'm sure it's something to do with the gray hair and wrinkly skin, not to mention the calloused fingers." Granny laughs again and shakes her head. "I appreciate you being so willing to humor an old woman. It's been a long time since anyone's even bothered."

"Somehow I doubt that," he says, quickly offering Regina a wink before looking wide-eyed at Granny. "Highly doubt that."

"I've been a widow longer than I've been anything else. So, yes, it's been awhile."

"Did you never want to marry again?" Regina asks with a genuine curiosity.

"No," Granny admits. "Never." She shrugs and looks between them. "I like my independence, and as much as I hate to say it, the only way for a woman like me to be independent is to be a widow." Her smile fades as her eyes shift to focus on Regina. "Being a young widow is hard and I say my independence is my reward for enduring it." Regina's brow furrows as a grin twists onto her lips. "As much as _your_ reward is a second, _good_ marriage."

"I _am_ quite the reward," Robin teases as he nudges her.

Regina laughs softly as she bites down her lip, her eyes turning to Robin as she considers how true Granny's words are. She _is_ lucky and she doesn't consider that enough. "He's alright, I suppose."

Robin leans in and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, and again, her cheeks warm at the public affection. Granny just smiles, not giving her any reason to pull away, so she leans into it a little, enjoying the sweetness.

"Did you pick out something stunning?"

"I… I think so."

"I'd ask if I'll like it, but I always think you look beautiful. You could wear a sack and I'd think it was gorgeous on you."

Her cheeks flush deeper. "I think you'll like it."

Granny just shakes her head and grins. They say their goodbyes as she continues winding thread around bobbins, and as they make their way out of the shop, Regina explains that she's been thinking of commissioning Ruby to update the boys' wardrobes. Robin agrees that it's needed—Henry's breeches are looking a bit snug at the knees and Roland's been tugging at his sleeves—and she decides that once they're back at Sherwood, she'll write.

Robin is quick to point out that they could easily go back, but Regina disagrees, wanting to write as an excuse to send Belle to Ruby. As they round the corner he murmurs something about her being a hopeless romantic and she rolls her eyes.

It's lighthearted and easy, and she doesn't want it to end, so she asks if he's hungry and suggests they have luncheon in town. Robin agrees easily, also not ready to return to Sherwood, and together, they turn in the direction of their favorite pub.

"I almost forgot to ask," she says, looking over at him. "How did your meeting go?"

"Meeting?"

"Yes, you went to a meeting and I went to the dress shop."

"Ah, right."

"Are you avoiding—"

"No, no," he quickly interjects. "I just… wanted to put it out of mind."

"Didn't it go well?"

"I… I don't actually know," he admits, looking back at her with an incredulous look. "I have _no_ idea."

"How can you—"

"Gold was… speaking in riddles," he sighs. "It's hard to explain."

"Did he have anything to say about Zelena?"

Robin shrugs. "Just… that I should count my pennies."

"Pennies—"

"I assume that's his way of telling me to look out for my inheritance."

"Possibly," she agrees. "Did he say anything else?"

"Nothing that made sense."

"Oh—"

"I knew I shouldn't have gone to him and paid for—" Robin stops and sighs. "It's all been a waste of time and energy, and only caused me anxiety. I know no more than I did going in."

Regina's brow furrows. "Did he… riddle anything else?"

"Nothing coherent."

"Was he drunk?"

"Perhaps."

"Oh, well… maybe…"

"He kept singing _sins of the mother_ over and over."

"What?" Regina's face scrunches. "Zelena's mother?"

"I don't know."

"She's dead." Robin only shrugs. "And Zelena has no children."

"I know. I told you none of it made sense."

"That's all he said? That and to count your pennies?"

"And something about finding strange bedfellows."

"Well, that one makes sense," Regina says, sighing as she thinks of her father-in-law's sickly sweet relationship. "I wish it didn't."

"Yeah—"

"Nothing else?"

"The last thing was something about two sides of a coin and having no preference over either of them. I didn't catch the exact words, I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was happening."

"A penny?" she asks, a grin tugging up at one corner of her mouth. "A two-sided penny?"

Robin's eyes roll. "Hell if I know."

"Well, I'm sorry you didn't get any answers."

"I am, too," Robin admits as they wind down the road toward the public house they've occasionally frequented when in town. "But at least it's done and over."

"It is?"

Robin nods. "I paid for information. He thinks he gave it to me. We're done."

"And good riddance."

"Here, here," Robin calls out as they approach the pub. "Now, can we please talk about something else? I'm getting a headache."

"Alright," she says, easily agreeing as a little laugh bubbles up from her chest. "How about how you were shamelessly flirting with _Granny Lucas_ in front of me."

"Are you jealous?"

"No," Regina admits. "It was… sweet."

"I like her. She's a good woman."

"She is."

"And I _do_ like her."

"That was clear."

"I like people who like you." Regina's eyes widen as Robin reaches for the door, pulling it open. She doesn't reply; she's not quite sure what to say, but nonetheless, she smiles. "Come on," he murmurs. "I'm starved and I can smell the corned beef from here."

They step inside the familiar, dimly lit pub and she looks around, spotting an open table by the window—and as she looks around, she can't help but notice the bartender's clenched jaw. She watches as the man, who normally smiles when they enter, tosses down a rag and rounds the bar, walking briskly toward them.

He looks upset, she notes as her stomach lurches. Upset with her.

Though she can't quite pinpoint why that is, she's sure that they're about to find out.

In a fleeting thought, she tells herself that she's overreacting, that she's misreading something. After all, they've been here a handful of times and never had there been a problem. They often stopped in for a drink or a quick sandwich, they occasionally brought in the boys for a scoop of ice cream or some raspberry cordial, and never had anyone taken issue with her presence. She thought back to the last time they were there, just before heading north to the Hunting Lodge for the Harvest Ball and nothing had seemed off then. They were easily seated, the boys were given extra sweets, and the very bartender that was marching toward them now looking so sullen and serious had spent the better part of an hour standing at their table chatting with Robin about some ideas for renovations.

Nothing had changed since then, she reasons.

But that wasn't exactly true.

All of those times—the last included—were before Zelena's little dinner party, before her dirty laundry was publically aired for everyone and anyone to hear and gossip over. And the look the bartender wears is one she's seen before. It was the one the housekeeper at Dragon Head wore when she handed in her resignation just after Regina and Henry came back to live there, it was the one the Ladies' Maid who'd dressed her on her wedding night had worn as she stared at her through the mirror as she hesitated to touch her as though the scandal could somehow be caught, and it was the same as the one Celeste wore whenever she entered a room. It was a look filled with disgust and disdain, and a look she'd earned.

Robin extends his hand, as he always does, but the bartender shakes his head—and her stomach flops.

This isn't good.

"I'm sorry," he says in a low voice. "I'm going to have to ask that you leave."

"Leave?" Robin repeats, his brow furrowing as he looks to Regina, as if he didn't hear the bartender correctly. "You've more than enough free tables—"

"I'm sorry."

Regina watches as Robin blinks. "I don't understand."

"I… can't seat you."

Her heart beats a little faster as the bartender's eyes shift to her as if to explain.

It's not that he can't seat Robin; it's that he won't seat _her_.

She understands, but Robin doesn't.

"Are you refusing me service?" Robin asks, obviously offended and clearly stunned. "Why on earth would you refuse me service? I've always paid my tab and—"

"I _am_ sorry, but I… I can't allow…" Again, his eyes shift to her and again, Robin doesn't catch it. Regina feels her own eyes sink closed as she wills herself to keep her tears at bay and prays that Robin lets it go, but he doesn't. "I _am_ sorry."

"Do you have a reason?" The bartender hesitates and though she can't see him, she can feel his eyes on her. "Do you—" Robin's voice halts. "Oh."

"If you'll just—"

"You won't seat _me_ because I'm with my wife."

"Yes. This isn't… _that kind_ of establishment."

"What kind?" Robin counters, anger rising into his voice. "The kind where _I_ own the property that this pub sits on? The kind where _my_ name is carved into the sign out front in a town named after _my_ family home?"

Regina's eyes open and she draws in a breath. She wishes she could shrink away, that she could disappear. A few men have turned to look, obviously aware that something is amiss, but she refused to let herself look at them, instead focusing on the floor. "Please don't make a scene," she whispers in a voice that's barely audible—and in a voice Robin doesn't seem to hear.

"You _can't_ refuse me service. I _own_ this pub."

She can tell it's difficult for the bartender, and she wonders if he's gotten complaints the handful of other times she's eaten there. "Actually," he says, his voice still low. "Your father does."

That only makes it worse.

Robin's face goes red and his jaw clenched tighter, and again she murmurs a quiet _let's just go_ that he doesn't seem to hear.

But the bartender does, and he looks guilty or maybe just ashamed.

She thinks of all the times she's been here, long before Robin came into her life and long before the bartender before them worked in it. As a young girl, her father often brought her here for a limeade and biscuits whenever her mother was being particularly rough on her. They'd sit at the bar and he'd have a beer, while she happily sipped her drink and kicked her feet against the stool. They'd talk about horses or whatever her lessons were focusing on at that point, and Dragon Head and Cora's anger would seem a thousand miles away.

After she'd grown up, she came to realize the pub was her father's home-away-from-home. It wasn't uncommon for him to spend an entire evening drinking and playing billiards or even a few days in a room upstairs with a good book. Undoubtedly, a great deal of money had been spent in this pub by her family over the years, and though she was firm in the belief that a person shouldn't be allowed to pay their way through life, this somehow seemed so unfair.

But then, this was just another consequence of her choices.

It had nothing to do with her father or Robin or Robin's father. It had everything to do with her.

"Did my father tell you to refuse us?"

Regina draws in a short breath. "Robin, _please_ …"

"No," the bartender answers, "But I have my principles, just as your father does."

"Principles," Robin scoffs. "I'm sure."

"I can't have… certain types of people here," he explains. "I don't want people talking, and I can't afford to lose business because my pub is… marred."

"Marred—"

"Tainted."

"Because of… my wife?"

The bartender offers a half nod, and again, her eyes sink closed to keep her tears from falling. "Please, Robin," she says again, this time an octave louder. "Let's go." Her eyes flutter open just in time to see Robin look to her, and just in time to see everything about his demeanor change—he feels sorry for her, or pities her, or maybe he's just embarrassed of her. "Please. Don't make a scene. Just leave it alone.. We'll go."

"Alright," he murmurs as he takes her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. "But this isn't over."

"Robin—"

"Thank you."

Robin's eyes narrow as the bartender's shoulders straighten. "I'm not giving this up for _your_ benefit. Let's be clear, and I mean it when I say it's not over."

"I'm sure you'll do what you must," the bartender says, "just as I'll do what I must."

Robin's jaw clenches and Regina's fingers tighten around his hand, giving it a little tug as she takes a step back, desperately wanting to leave. Her face is hot and her stomach is in knots and the longer she stands there idly, watching the two men staring each other down, the harder she finds that it is to breathe.

"Please, Robin…"

Finally, Robin breaks the bartender's gaze and nods, looking to her. She takes another step back and he steps back with her and then, as they turn to the door, Robin freezes and she follows his gaze to the bar where Jefferson Hatfield sits, drinking.

"You've _got_ to be _fucking_ kidding me."

Robin glares at the bartender whose shoulders straight as his chin tips up. "I don't make the rules."

"Like hell you don't. I—"

"Can we please just go?'

Robin looks to her, his jaw tight and his eyes filled with anger. Silently, she pleads with him—pleading to go without issue, to not make a scene, to not make this whole situation worse—and he seems to understand her. He offers a little nod and gives her hand a squeeze, and her heart is beating so fast and so loud, she doesn't quite catch Robin's last words to the bartender before they leave.

"I'm sorry," she says in a burst as soon as the door closes. "I'm—"

" _You_ did nothing wrong."

"Well, that depends on—"

"No," he says, cutting in as he pulls her toward him. "It depends on nothing. He was wrong."

For a moment, she lets him hold her, hoping it'll calm her down. But all she can think of is how much she's complicated his life—he can't even go and have a simple drink without causing a stir. Her stomach flops and the tears she's been holding back come rushing to her eyes.

She pushes away. "I think we should go."

"There are other—"

"No," she cuts in, her voice rising over his as she shakes her head. "That was too embarrassing. I can't do that, not again."

"Regina, you—"

She bristles, feeling like she might be sick. "Can we please just go back to Sherwood? I've already been away from Henry for too long. What if he's sicker or—"

"Alright," Robin says, easily agreeing. "We'll go back."

She nods as he takes her hand, pulling her into his side as they walk toward their carriage. He rubs her arm and tries to make small talk about the boys, but she can still hear the anger behind his voice and her stomach feels too queasy to respond. So they end up riding back in silence as she stares out at the countryside, hating herself.

Robin sighs as he watches the bedroom door close behind Regina. He falls back against the wall, tipping back his head and wondering how they went from enjoying such a carefree day to… this.

The whole way back from town, Regina didn't speak. Instead, she stared blankly ahead, refusing to look at him. He could see her flushed cheeks and teary eyes, and he didn't quite understand it.

Of course, he understands why she's upset. He's upset, too. What happened that afternoon at the pub was unnecessary and uncalled for. He hated that she bared the brunt of the guilt for what happened between her and Jefferson and he hated that she was expected to hide away and adjust her life while he was able to keep on living his life as if nothing happened. He'd been over it again and again, and though he wasn't exactly an unbiased party, he couldn't see how _she_ was the one to blame.

Yet, every time that one night cropped up, it was thrown in her face, ripping off the bandage and making her wounds new again.

All while this time, Jefferson sat back and sipped his scotch.

But she knew that she didn't have to be embarrassed, not with him, and she knew that he knew all of her secrets, that he didn't hold them against her. She didn't have to clam up or avert his eyes in fear of judgement. She didn't have to accept the so-called consequences of her sins without complaint. She didn't have to tolerate it. Though he knew his opinion smacked with the privilege that came with his status—the privilege that came with _their_ status—people in town didn't have the right to throw her lowest moments in her face, they didn't have a right to deny her service, and they didn't have a right.

But she let them.

And, now, he realized, so did he.

By turning around and leaving, he let them use her mistakes against her. He let them think it was acceptable to deny her, to speak about her as they did. He let them think that they had the upper hand.

"You look… like hell," Mal says as she walks down the long corridor that connects the boys' rooms to theirs and wipes her hands on the white apron tied around her waist. "You're not catching the plague, are you?"

"No, it's… it's something else," he tells her. "How's Henry?"

"Definitely on the mend."

"And Roland? Still no symptoms?"

"Just boredom." A grin twists onto Mal's lips. "Nothing's fun without Henry."

In spite of himself, a grin tugs up on his lips. "You'd never know that it wasn't that long ago when Roland was an only child."

"How easily he forgets."

Robin nods. He likes that his son seems to have forgotten that detail of his childhood. "They get on well. Regina and I are lucky."

"You are," Mal agrees. "The girls I was last with were _always_ at each other's throats. They were little hyenas."

"Hyenas—"

Mal nods. "The littlest one was sweet, but her older sisters were… well, for lack of better description, catty little bitches."

Robin's brow arches. "You don't sugar-coat things, do you?"

"I try not to," Mal tells him, her shoulders straightening. "There doesn't seem much of a point in selling a false version of things." She shrugs. "They were pretty. Their awful personalities hardly mattered in their world."

"So, they married and—"

"Are the mistresses of their own houses, probably raising their own terrible children."

Robin laughs at that. He appreciates the candor, especially now. "Weren't they… practically related to you?"

"Mm, practically, yes. But not quite, and even then, I've no reason to make family seem better than they are. There's little point. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone has flaws, myself included. Why pretend we don't?"

Robin's eyes narrow as he stares at Mal, considering her words. Since coming to Sherwood, Mal has been Regina's ultimate defender. She's looked out for her and protected her, she's stood up for her and given her a friend in the house. It hadn't quite occurred to him that everyone in Mal's good graces hadn't been given the same benefit that Regina had, and he wondered why. But he wouldn't ask; he didn't care enough to. After all, he liked that his wife had an ally, and that was that.

"That's… an interesting perspective."

"And an unpopular one."

"It shouldn't be though," Robin tells her. "That sort of honesty could do the world some good."

"Perhaps," Mal shrugs. "But I've never cared much about popularity. If I did, I wouldn't be where I am now." She pauses and he bristles, wondering if that's about taking a position at Sherwood. "If I did the popular thing, I'd be married to a pig farmer two towns over."

Robin blinks a couple of times. "What?"

"I was promised to someone and… I ran away and went to school instead."

"I thought you had your father's blessing to pursue a career?"

She grins. "And to run away."

"Ah—"

"Not that I needed it. I'd have done it anyway."

Robin grins, thinking again of Regina. She once had that same spark, but unlike Mal, life had too effectively tamped it down and he wondered if it could ever be rekindled. He thought he saw signs of it—here and there, usually when they were away from Sherwood—and he'd seen it earlier that afternoon in Granny's shop, but then, as always, it was stomped on.

"So, are you going to tell me why you're sulking or are you going to make me guess?"

Robin blinks. "I'm hardly sulk—"

"Roland does the same thing when he's mad."

"Oh."

"What happened?" she asks, her voice softer as she nods to the closed bedroom door. "Does it have something to do with the reason you're out here and not in there? Or something to do with the fact that Regina's all but vanished?"

"She... hasn't vanished," he sighs. "She's laying down."

"Is she well?"

Robin shrugs. "Just a bad day."

"So, she isn't sick—"

"No," he confirms. "Neither of us are sick."

"If I make you some tea, will you tell me about it?" Robin's eye narrow as a soft grin edges onto Mal's lips. "Another thing you have in common with your son."

Robin laughs softly and sighs, then nods and follows her down the corridor to the small sitting room outside her bedroom. It's a tight space that fits little more than a table, chairs and a stove, but Mal moves around it easily as she reaches for a second tea cup that sits on a shelf above the stove.

He sits down when she asks him to, and looks through the open door to her bedroom, finding it tidy and warm. He remembers the pains Regina went to to get it ready, and how she and Belle had raided the attic trying to make the room look cozier than it did when it belonged to Celeste. Mal seems to have added some personal touches—a quilt and a tiny little portrait of whom he can only assume is Rose—and the open window framed in curtains shows off a relatively nice view of the estate's property.

"So, what happened?" she asks, joining him at the table and pouring the tea. "Everything was fine when the two of you left, and you're not sick."

"No, not sick," he reiterates with a sigh. "Um, so we had some business to attend to in town."

"Yes, I remember that part."

"Right," he murmurs. "Well, Regina went for a dress-fitting and I ran another errand."

"Alright. So you went one way and she went another…"

"And we rendezvoused for luncheon."

"Nice."

"Except not."

"No?"

He shakes his head. "We went to the public house in town—"

"I remember it. My father used to go there."

Robin nods, his jaw tightening again and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck. "We were refused service."

"On what grounds!?" Mal demands, matching his outrage.

"Regina."

"Regi— _oh_."

"Yes."

"And you've gone there before?"

"Countless times."

"With Regina?"

"Yes," he says again. "Often, actually."

"And you've never _not_ been seated before?"

"No."

"What changed?" Robin sighs and his brow arches as he watches as understanding settles in Mal's eyes, remembering what happened weeks before at Zelena's little dinner party. "I could kill that wicked, red-devil."

Robin nods. "Apparently, it's not _that sort_ of establishment. The barkeep didn't want gossip spreading."

"Yes, but all the respectable ladies hang around public houses to do their cross-stitch."

"And the worst of it was that, all the while, Jefferson Hatfield was sitting at the bar, drinking."

"That bastard."

"My thoughts exactly," he murmurs. "Well, with a few additional expletives added in."

Mal's jaw tightens. "I held back."

"I just… I was so stunned."

"What did you do?"

Robin sighs. "Channelled by inner Richard Locksley and made a threat."

Mal takes a sip of her tea, looking so strangely demure as she says, "To disembowel him? That's what I've had threatened… and meant."

"Uh, no. Just… to, um… revoke his tenancy." He frowns, feeling oddly inadequate. "I wanted to haul off and punch him, or—"

"But Regina would have done the same to you. She hates making a scene," Mal tells him, sighing as her eyes momentarily press close. "The after effect of being raised by Cora Mills. She _hates_ a scene."

He nods. He knows that.

And he hates that whenever she goes, she seems to cause one ensuring that she'll never publicly be comfortable in her own skin and never feel fully at ease.

Robin takes her through the day, sparing no detail, and he feels an odd mix of validation and inadequacy as Mal listens and adds her opinions.

But before they can get too far into the discussion, Henry's head peaks into the sitting room as he calls Mal's name.

She's up in a second, her anger fading as she goes to him and he tells her that he's hungry.

Robin stands, making his presence known, and he scoops up Henry (and his dragon) as Mal goes down to the kitchen to scrounge for some sort of bland snack—a task that shouldn't be too hard, given his father's distaste of flavor.

"Where's my mama?" Henry asks as Robin carries him.

"Laying down."

"Is she sick?" Henry asks. "Did I get her sick?"

"Oh, no. She… just a had a little headache."

Henry nods. "There's a powder for that, you know, and it tastes like chalk."

Robin grins as they enter into the nursery. "Sounds like you've got some first-hand experiences with that."

Henry frowns. "I've had _too many_ powders lately."

"I'll agree to that. Being sick is no fun."

"None!" Henry agrees, sighing. "Roland's not here."

"Still not allowed in?"

"Not yet," Henry tells him, frowning again. "I even miss my lessons."

"Well," Robin murmurs, pushing his hand up to the boy's forehead and finding it cool. "Why don't we get you into some proper clothes and see if we can set up a game—"

"Can we go on a treasure hunt!?" Henry asks, his hazel eyes wide. "Please?"

"I was… thinking something with a bit less activity."

"Oh."

"Like checkers, or chess."

"Mal's been teaching me and Rol—" Henry's voice stops abruptly and clears his throat. "I mean, Roland and I… or…" He sighs and looks helplessly to Robin. "Or is it _me_? I can never remember. _Ever_."

"I think you're thinking a little too hard about it and I also think I remember _hating learning_ grammar."

"You did?"

Robin nods. "But don't tell Mal."

"I won't," Henry giggles.

Robin sets him on his bed and picks out some clothes, noting that Regina's right, his breeches are a bit snug. Nonetheless, he helps Henry gets dressed, allowing him to wear just his socks to the sitting room where Roland's been camped out on his own for the day. Robin takes his hand and Henry takes his dragon's hand, and all of them join Roland.

Roland immediately lights up when the door opens and bounds toward Henry, rambling on about watercolors and German and arithmetic. He reaches for his brother's hand and pulls him to the desk, showing off a series of papers that Henry only grins at.

Robin gets out a chess set and sets it up, then calls the boys over to join him. Henry sits on one side of the table and he holds Roland in his lap on the other, and when Mal joins them, she sits beside Henry—and Roland mutters something about automatically losing now that Mal's involved in the game, a detail that makes Henry beam.

They're half way through the game when the sitting room's door opens, and Regina peeks in, smiling meekly as her eyes meet Robin's.

"Are you feeling better, Mama?" Henry asks, brightening as he looks to her. "Because I am!"

"I am so glad to hear that," she says, coming in and closing the door behind her. "And yes, I am much better."

"Are you really?" Robin asks, as she joins them at the table.

She nods, offering him a shy, but genuine grin. "I am."

"Good."

"Glad to hear it," Mal echoes as she rises. "Now, you sit here. I was just keeping your seat warm."

"Oh, I'm rubbish at chess. You should—"

"Oh, great," Henry mutters under his breath as Roland giggles. "I'm gonna lose now."

Regina makes a joke of it as she slides into the seat Mal had just occupied—and then, as the game resumes, she makes a comment about being happy in her little bubble with the three of them, and he feels his anger bubbling again.

Not at her, but at the fact that the only place she seems able to relax is in these rooms, that the rest of the world is too unfriendly, and that a few desperate and youthful decisions will forever confine her.

They spend a quiet evening in with the boys, playing games, drawing and telling stories. Though normally, this sort of thing would drive the boys mad and have them practically climbing the walls, on this night, it works for all of them. While Henry's feeling better, he's still a bit weak, and Roland's simply glad for the company of his mother and brother. And for them, it's nice to just relax and try to let the events of earlier in the day go.

For Regina, it seems to work.

By the time dinner rolls around, she's back to her usual self, smiling and laughing with the boys—and he has to remind himself how good she is at faking her emotions for their sake.

For the most part—though, he's not sure if it's for better or worse—they manage to enjoy the evening and he's able to forget.

But every now and then, at the most inopportune of times, he finds himself thinking of Jefferson, sitting at the bar and drinking, enjoying himself while Regina was denied; and then, the thought was followed by the memory of Regina's tears.

For awhile, he's able to shake it, but each time it comes back harder and stays longer, and eventually, he finds it impossible to focus on anything else.

Which only makes him angrier.

"You know," he begins, distracted. "We came back in such a hurry, I don't know that I locked the stables."

Regina blinks. "The stables—"

"Well, the stalls."

"So, you're telling me it's possible the horses are… running free?"

"That sounds fun!" Roland says, innocently looking between them. "Can we go and wrangle them?"

Robin laughs gently, averting Regina's gaze and focusing on Roland's wide eyes. "No, but I think I may have to."

"We can't come?" Roland frowns, pouting out his bottom lip. "But it sounds _fun_ , and we haven't had fun all week."

Regina's eyes narrow. She doesn't look convinced.

"I'll just run down and check—"

"And if you're not back, you're… wrangling the horses?" Regina asks, her brow arching. She knows that he's lying. "You're seriously going to—"

"Precisely."

"This isn't fair," Roland whines. "I never get to do anything."

"Well, if that's not a sign that it's nearly bedtime, I don't know what is," Regina says, sighing and shaking her head as she turns her attention to the boys. "Let's go get you both changed."

"I'll be back soon," Robin says pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, then tussling the hair on top of both boys' heads. "Promise."

Regina offers a curt nod while Roland grumbles and Henry blinks up at her with hooded eyes—and once more, she chooses to focus on them rather than him and his obvious lie. Roland continues to grumble as she pauses to hoist Henry onto her hip, then she laughs gently and takes Roland by the hand, taking them back to the nursery. For a moment, he just stands there, watching them go and wondering if he really wants to leave them but no sooner than he questions it, he thinks of Jefferson drinking and having a good time, likely playing darts or billiards, gambling and playing cards, and he thinks of Regina's embarrassed tears—tears cried on account of _him_.

He bristles as Regina starts to hum the beginnings of a lullaby, and he hates that she always has to be so guarded. He watches her press a kiss to Henry's forehead as his head falls to her shoulder and he cuddles to her, and all he can think as he watches them is how unfair life has been to her—unfair to her while rewarding Jefferson.

As he turns away from the nursery, his fists clench as heat rises up the back of his neck—and despite his best efforts to convince himself that all he wants to do is clear the air and have a conversation with the barkeep, he knows deep down that's not what's going to happen.

It's not what he wants to happen.

And if Jefferson Hatfield is still there—there, freely enjoying himself—he'll be having more than just a conversation with him.

He takes a shortcut through the woods and when he arrives into town, he can see the pub aglow. As he draws closer, he feels himself growing angrier; and as he draws closer, he can hear cheers and laughter coming from it. It's a busy night and as he jumps down from his horse, hastily tying him to a post, he sees several regulars gathered at the tables and at the bar. When he scans the crowd, he sees neither the bartender who denied them service nor Jefferson.

Someone else is schlepping drinks and someone else is sitting in Jefferson's place, and for a moment, he just stands there, unsure of what he wants to do. But as he stands there, sorting out his thoughts and feelings, he spots a smoky corner where a card game seems to be underway. At first, he's not sure why he zeroed in on that particular table, then he watches a man stand and toss down his cards in a huff, and as he grabs his beer and stalks away, he sees Jefferson, sitting back and smiling smugly as he collects his earnings.

It's as if everyone else senses his rage and as soon as he steps forward, a pathway is formed.

As Robin walks toward Jefferson, he feels his cheeks redden with anger and his fists clench. With every step and with a rapid fire pace, he thinks of Regina—the way she'd focused on the floor, refusing to make eye contact and wishing she could disappear, the way she'd refused to leave Sherwood after the stunt Zelena and Jefferson pulled at the dinner party, the way she expected him to distance himself as so many had done.

He thinks, then, of the story she shared—how desperate she'd been to find a way to support herself and Henry, how she felt she'd had no other options, how all other options had failed. And he thinks about the position that Jefferson had been in, too. He knew her and still, he took advantage of her.

Regina and Jefferson had never run in the same social circle—the tension between the Locksleys and the Mills created two factions that kept them separated, and Regina always kept herself on the periphery of high society—but still, he knew who she was and the hardships she endured. Daniel's death had spread like scandalous rumor through the town and through the countryside and with it came whisperings of what would happen to Regina and her son—to Cora Mills' daughter and grandson. People speculated that she might fall to ruin, others assumed Henry and Cora would funnel money to her somehow, and others speculated that she'd create a whole new life for herself in a distant place where no one knew the scandal that surrounded her.

That speculation usually ended in one of two ways—that she either got what she deserved or that her life worked itself out as it usually did for those born into her position. Nonetheless, for most who speculated, Regina Mills' fate was out of sight and out of mind.

But for Jefferson, she was anything but that.

He knew that life hadn't worked itself out for her and he knew how desperate she was. He had an opportunity that few in their social circle did—he had an opportunity to help. And instead, he took advantage, only thinking of himself and his own pleasure, and then, then when it was denied, he made an already terrible situation worse. He spread rumors and lies, making sure everyone knew just how low Regina Mills had sunk. No longer did they need to speculate.

So, finally, when she did find reprieve, when help did come to her, she returned to Dragon Head shrouded in more shame than when she'd left it.

Most could forgive a youthful dalliance and most would agree that Daniel's death was sufficient penance for her sins, but thanks to Jefferson, she had a new set of sins to live down—and this time, as they'd been reminded that very afternoon, most could not easily forgive.

Jefferson barely looks up as he reaches him, likely assuming that Robin's another man looking to win back his money in a game of cards. His lips part and he smiles smugly, looking like he's about to say something crass, but before he can, Robin's fist smashes against his jaw.

A gasp and murmur travel through the pub as Jefferson is knocked to the floor. Robin's shoulder's square as he watches Jefferson squirm and struggle to find his feet. He's vaguely aware of the forming crowd, but he can't focus on them; instead, he watches as Jefferson gets up. He touches his fingers to his busted lip, and looks back at Robin with wild eyes—and for a moment, all Robin can do is scoff at his confusion—then, as he watches Jefferson's fist tighten and his confusion turn into a little laugh, Robin feels his rage building up again as his shoulders instinctively square, ready for a fight.

He takes another swing, this time, only knocking Jefferson back a couple staggering of steps—and that's the hit that seems to piss him off. Again, Jefferson touches his lip, this time finding it bloody, and as he looks at the blood on his fingertips, his fist begins to ball up. Jefferson charges forward, but he's too drunk to keep his balance, and when Robin steps slightly to the right, Jefferson turns into the edge of the table. It stops him for a brief moment, but it's long enough for Robin to get in one more good shot. This time, he punches him square in the nose and harder than the first time. The blow knocks Jefferson down and this time, he slams the back of his head on the edge of a hard, wooden chair.

For a moment, Robin just stands there, watching as Jefferson writhes on the floor. People around him are hollering and laughing, but he can't seem to make out any of their words. His ears are ringing and his heart is pounding, and he's vaguely aware of that this doesn't _feel_ done—and he's vaguely aware that if he stays any longer he might not be able to stop himself.

The whole way from Sherwood to the pub, he kept telling himself that just one punch—one good, hard punch—would make him feel better. But now that he's here, he realizes that's not at all the case, and he realizes that he always knew that it wasn't.

He takes a step toward Jefferson who's laying on the floor, rubbing at the back of his head, and before he can take another step, someone steps up behind him and pulls him back. He doesn't see who it is, but he pulls back his arm and keeps his eyes fixed on Jefferson.

He can't look away, and he finds himself fantasizing about grabbing him up by the collar and dragging him to his feet, only to knock him down again, and he thinks about how good it would feel to ram the tip of his boot into the pit of Jefferson's stomach—but as he steps toward him again, he's once more pulled back and he hears a voice he doesn't recognize mutter a low _Stop, he's not worth it_.

Robin pulls away and when he turns back, he can't tell who pulled him back. He searches the faces of the men around him, and he can't make out a single one, so it gives him a moment to think—and it's then that he realizes the voice was right. Jefferson _isn't_ worth it. He spots the barkeep in the back of the room. He's standing back and watching with wide, curious eyes, and Robin thinks of how different he looks now than he did then. When he turned them away that afternoon, he'd been so quiet and short. He'd avoided eye contact, often focusing his attention on the floor or on a spot of wall just beyond them; but now, he's just standing there watching and not intervening.

Robin looks away, turning as he looks at Jefferson, still lying pathetically sprawled out on the floor and hears another low warning of _He's not worth it_.

It's odd the way that shifts his thoughts to Regina, remembering how she begged him to go that afternoon without causing a scene, and he can't help but think how upset she'd be if she were there with him, or even if she knew where he was. He sighs to himself, thinking of his flimsy excuse—one only his young and gullible sons bought—and he feels guilt prickling up from his core.

And then, before he can change his mind, he turns on his heels and leaves, jumping onto his horse and running him as fast as he can back to Sherwood.

When he arrives at Sherwood, John is waiting by the door.

He offers him a nod as he takes the reins of his horse, and as Robin enters the long foyer at the front of the house, he wonders if John has been waiting there the whole time.

There's a fire glowing in the library and it occurs to him that he could check in on his father—that perhaps he should confide what happened that evening at the pub—but when he hears Zelena's high-pitched and nearly manic laugh, he turns away, deciding that conversation can be saved for the morning.

He goes up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

His shoulders relax as he reaches the hall that leads to his and Regina's rooms, and suddenly, the thought of curling up in bed with her as a warm fire crackles in front of them, sets him completely at ease. But when he pushes into their bedchamber, he finds it empty. The bed is still made up and Regina's dressing table is untouched, and a smile draws onto his lips as he realizes that she's likely still with the boys.

He finds her in the rocking chair with each boy at her side, their legs tangled over her lap as she reads to them. Roland is sucking on his thumb and Henry's head is on her shoulder, his little fingers playing with the lace piping on her dress. Mal's door is open and he can see her mending some of the boys' socks, listening as Regina reads _Keeper's Travels in Search of His Master_

a book Regina's been reading to the boys—and a book Roland's missed reading for the past several nights.

Robin chuckles softly as he sits on the edge of Henry's bed and Regina grins, momentarily looking up from the page to acknowledge him. She doesn't say anything; instead, she just keeps reading the tale of a little dog's harrowing journey home. Robin looks between them boys—Henry is sated, looking on the verge of sleep, while Roland hangs on every word, enthralled as though he could listen for several more hours.

Regina keeps reading, but he can't help notice the way her eyes zero in on his hand, and it's only then that he realizes how red and scuffed his knuckles are. Her brow arches as he pushes his hand into his pocket, like a child who's been caught, but again, she says nothing. It's not until Henry falls asleep that she folds the book closed and turns her attention to Roland, promising they'll continue the story the following night. Begrudgingly, he sighs and nods, and agrees that it's not fair for Henry to miss a part of the story just because he wants to stay awake for more.

Robin rises from Roland's bed to take Henry from Regina, and from the corner of his eye, he watches Mal sit up a little straighter as she stares into her sitting room; then, with a hurried glance toward the nursery, she puts down her sewing and goes toward the room. He hears the door close behind her, and he can hear her voice, speaking lowly, in the hall just outside the nursery.

Regina doesn't seem to notice any of it, and neither do the boys—and as he tucks Henry into his bed and positions the blanket around the boy's shoulders, he tells himself that it's likely nothing to worry about.

He and Regina switch sides, and he watches momentarily as she leans in to kiss Henry's forehead, then he turns his attention to Roland. He sits on the edge of the bed as Roland yawns, but before he can wish him sweet dreams, the nursery door opens.

John is standing there and Mal is beside him—and behind them are two men in black suits and hats.

Roland gasps and sits up and Regina stares wide-eyed into the hall—and then, she slowly turns to look at Robin, her eyes sinking closed as she focuses on his scuffed knuckles.

"Mr. Locksley," John says in a low voice, mindful of Regina and the boys, "These men would like to speak with you in the hall."

Robin blinks. "These men—"

"Yes."

"Who are they?" Roland asks in a small, innocent voice.

"Just some men from town," Robin tells him as his eyes shift to Regina. "I, um… I must've forgotten that I had with a meeting with them."

Regina's jaw tightens, and even Roland doesn't believe it. "They… they look like watchmen."

"Mr. Locksley," one of the men calls. "We need to speak to you _now_."

His voice is loud and firm, and it wakes Henry, who sits up in bed with wide eyes. "What's happening?" he asks, groggily looking to Regina. "Who are those men?"

"They're watchmen!"

Henry looks to Roland.

"Why are watchmen here?"

"I'm _sure_ it's nothing, Henry," Robin says.

" _Now_ Mr. Locksley," the other calls.

And this time, Robin nods and steps away from Roland's bed.

"What the hell is going on?" Regina asks, whispering loudly as she follows him to the door. "Where did you go?"

"It's… it's probably nothing."

"Robin—"

"Stay with the boys."

"Robin—"

"I can stay with them," Mal cuts in—and momentarily, he and Regina both look back to the boys who are both teary and nervous. "I can—"

"No," Regina cuts in. "I should stay with them."

"I won't be lo—"

"Though I'd _love_ to know what's going on," Regina cuts in, her voice cool.

" _Mr. Locksley_ , we won't ask again."

Regina's eyes sink closed and she turns away from him. A knot forms at the pit of his stomach as he leaves the nursery, careful to close the nursery door.

"Can I ask what this is—"

"We'll ask the questions, Mr. Locksley," one of the watchmen says. "Now, were you at the Sherwood Pub this evening?"

"Around nine o'clock."

Robin swallows as he thinks of Jefferson and that stupid, smug smile and the pathetic way he floundered on the pub's floor. "I was."

"And when you were there, did you see a Mr. Jefferson Hatfield?"

"Unfortunately."

"Yes," the watchmen agrees. "Quite unfortunate."

"Quite unfortunate, indeed," the other watchmen says as he reaches into his pocket. "Because Mr. Hatfield is charging you with—"

Robin grimaces. "Can we discuss this elsewhere, gentleman?" He looks back at the closed door. "Perhaps out of the earshot of my wife and sons?"

The watchmen agree and they all go downstairs, except for Mal who joins Regina in the nursery.

Robin pulls them into the drawing room, a room that is generally unoccupied, and away from the prying ears of hallboys and footmen who would quickly report anything back to the butler who'd report directly to his father. John hovers at the door to ensure that no one enters as the watchmen recap Jefferson's story—and Robin nods along with it, not disagreeing with any detail.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?"

"Only that it was a long time coming."

"Is that is?"

Robin nods. "I… assume you know of my history with the Hatfields?"

The watchmen look uncomfortable, but they both nods and one murmurs _more of your wife's family's history,_ as he avoids eye contact.

"So, then, I can assure you that what happened this evening was unprovoked."

One of the men nods. "That doesn't change the charge."

"Or that we're here to arrest you for the charge."

Robin blinks. "For defending—"

"Mr. Hatfield did not hurt your wife."

"Like hell he didn't!" Robin replies, his voice rising. "Perhaps not tonight, but—"

"From what I understand—"

"You understand nothing," Robin cuts in. "What happened tonight between Jefferson Hatfield and I—"

Robin's voice halts abruptly as the door opens and John steps aside to let Richard into the drawing room. "We can hear the yelling straight from the library. What the hell is happening here?" His brows arch as he takes in the watchmen. "What brings you here?"

"We're here to arrest the younger Mr. Locksley."

"On what charge?" Richard demands. "That's preposterous."

"It isn't, though, sir," the watchman says. "Mr. Locksley's admitted to it all."

Richard blinks. "And what is _it all_?"

"Assault," the other watchman tells him. "It seems your son got into a little scuffle with Mr. Jefferson Hatfield."

Richard's eyes narrow as he looks to Robin. "What sort of scuffle?"

"I… hit him a few times," Robin says. "It was deserved."

For a moment, Richard says nothing and Robin bristles, waiting for the likely lecture about how Regina's tainted his life. But the longer he waits, the less likely it seems to come. Instead, Richard stares at him, almost blankly, before turning his eyes to the watchmen.

"Don't do anything," he says at last. "I'll be back momentarily, and then we'll all sit down for a chat." Richard turns on his heels and on the way out, he whispers something to John, and then John goes to the little bar near the hearth and pours two glasses of brandy.

The watchmen accept the drinks, looking a bit befuddled, but otherwise compliant.

It doesn't take long for Richard to return and when he does, he again whispers something to John. Robin watches curiously as John's jaw tenses, but nonetheless, he nods, then disappears out the door.

"Now, gentlemen," Richard begins. "We all know that a little bar fight between young men is nothing uncommon, and while I'd like to think my own son is above such low and childish feats, I'm not stupid enough to think he's incapable of them."

"He's admitted—"

"I understand what he's admitted," Richard says cooly. "But lots of boys get into scuffles when alcohol is involved, and you and I both know the Hatfields are known cons."

At that, Robin's brow arches.

"I don't know why my son felt so inclined to strike him—"

"Multiple times—"

"That seems irrelevant," Richard decides. "What _is_ relevant, however, is the fact that the Hatfield boys have made a habit of making enemies. They squander their wealth and steal it back through card tricks and schemes. Everyone knows it and everyone tolerates it because their father was an honorable man."

"That doesn't—"

Richard doesn't seem to hear the watchmen speak. "So, how much will this cost me?"

"The charge—"

"You can't tell me you're going to arrest my son on the account of a Hatfield."

"The charge is quite serious, sir. I can't, in good faith—"

"Do you have children?"

Robin watches as the watchmen both nod.

"A son and two daughters," one of them says.

"And I've a child on the way," the other tells him.

Richard nods. "All charges come with a price, you see. You can arrest my son and take him away, and in the morning, I'll go into town and post his bail, and all your efforts tonight will be undone. Or, I can pay it now, and give you each, a... I suppose we could call it a bonus… for your efforts in expediting this process."

Again, Robin watches as the watchmen exchange a questioning look.

"I assure you, it'll be worth your while," Richard says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a cheque book. "I don't imagine you couldn't use this," he murmurs, as he moves to the little desk in search of an ink well to dip his pen. "And if you can't immediately put it to use, perhaps you could invest it, and give your children their start in life."

Richard finds the ink well and dips the tip of the pen into it, then on a scrap of paper, he writes another. "I'm no mathematician, but I think this should cover it?" He turns the paper toward the watchmen. "Of course, this would go to each of you."

Robin cranes his neck and his brows arch at the amount written on the paper scrap. Then, when he looks to the watchmen, they're standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws, staring at an amount likely more than they'll ever earn as watchmen.

"Can we agree to this?" Richard asks. "I'd like to know before I waste a note on—"

"I… I think… I think that'll be sufficient," one of the watchmen says.

"Yes. Sufficient," the other agrees.

"Good," Richard tells them as he turns back to the desk. "I appreciate your willingness to expedite this process for us." He blows on the cheques before turning back to the watchmen. "And, of course, I'll appreciate your discretion in this matter. You see, it'd be quite embarrassing for my family if this got out."

"Of course."

"Understood."

The men accept the cheques and leave, leaving Robin and his father alone in the drawing room.

"Um, thank you. I—"

"I can't afford _more_ scandal brought onto this family due to your wife's _indiscretions_."

Robin's brow furrows. "Regina wasn't the one who—"

"No," Richard says, shaking his head. "She didn't. But _you_ did on _her_ behalf."

Robin blinks, stiffening and feeling like he has whiplash. Richard didn't have to write the cheques and he'd done it in a way that made it seem rather insignificant, in a way that made it seem like he understood. "I… won't apologize for defending her honor," Robin says, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. "And when I see a double set of rules—one for her and one for everyone else—I won't accept it."

Richard's brow furrows. "Rules?"

"The pub refused us service today."

"Regina?"

"And me."

Richard nods, considering it—and though Robin's hardly an expert on his father's thoughts, he notes that Richard seems bothered by that detail. "Because you were with her."

"Presumably."

"And what's this to do with Jefferson Hatfield?"

It seems a stupid question, considering how closely tied Regina and Jefferson's stories are, but Robin answers it anyway. "Well, it has everything to do with him, but to add to the insult, while we were being denied, Jefferson was being served."

"Served—"

"Yes, he was sitting at the bar drinking."

"I see." For a moment, Richard ponders it, and once again, Robin can't quite tell what he's thinking. "I won't condone you acting so foolishly—"

"I'm not—"

"I knew this would happen, eventually, once you married her. You always need to play the hero, and now look where it's gotten you."

"Regina isn't at fault for—"

"Well, it's done, now," Richard says dismissively. "And know the amount I wrote on those notes will come off of your inheritance."

Robin's eyes roll. "I should expect nothing less."

They go their separate ways—his father to check on Zelena and himself toward the nursery, and when he reaches the end of the hall, he spots Regina standing outside the door.

He smiles a bit awkwardly as he starts toward her, planning out some sort of apology as he goes.

But he doesn't get out the words.

"Wrangling horses?" she asks, her brow arching.

"I… I'm sorry," he sighs. "I shouldn't have lied. I just—"

"I can't believe you did this."

He blinks, unsure of what she's talking about exactly.

"I can't believe you'd do something so stupid!"

"While, I admit, the actual act was rather foolish, my intentions—"

"What if you'd been arrested?" she interjects. "Oh, my god, Robin, what if you'd killed him?"

"I… think that's a bit extreme."

"Is it?" Regina counters. "Because I've seen those sorts of fights—the sort of fights where two drunk and angry men—"

"I wasn't drunk."

"That's not the point. The point is that it just takes _one_ punch for things to go terribly awry."

Robin's jaw tightens—that had occurred to him, at some point. "Regina, I think it's important to consider—"

"And what would have happened had _that_ happened?" Her voice hitches and it's only then that he sees how upset she is, and he doesn't quite understand it. "What would've happened if you'd been hauled off to jail on murder charges or—"

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself. I hardly—"

"What would've happened to me and Henry? To Roland? I can't imagine that your father would've let us stay or let me still see him. I doubt—"

"Regina," Robin says, cutting in and letting his voice raises over hers. "It's useless to dwell on what could've happened. It didn't. That's that. It's over."

"But it's not, Robin. It's not. I _constantly_ worried about what'll happen if I lose you."

"You won't lose me. I'm not—"

"Well, I didn't plan on losing Daniel either, and look how that worked out!"

"That's… that's different."

"Is it? Because a half an hour ago, two watchmen were here ready to haul you off to jail."

"But they didn't!"

"Because your father paid them off!"

"Are you…" His eyes narrow as her voice trails off, unsure of which part of this is making her so upset. "What exactly are you mad about? Jefferson? Because—"

"I asked you to leave it alone. I asked you to ignore it. I asked you not to make it worse. And you did! You didn't listen, Robin. You didn't think about anything other than what _you_ were feeling!"

He's taken aback by that. The only thing he thought of was _her_.

Regina's jaw tightens and she shakes her head as she looks away from him, obviously pissed. "You have no idea what it's like to live at someone else's mercy!"

And _that_ pisses him off. "Mercy?"

It might be just an issue of choosing the wrong word, an issue of semantics, but the word she chose seems to imply control and worse that _he_ somehow controls _her_ , and that she's trapped.

Since their marriage, he's made a concerted effort not to do either of those things, to include her and make her feel a part of every decision made. At first, he'd done it to prove to her that he didn't marry her for some sort of ulterior motive, to prove that she was more to him than someone to warm his bed; then, it became about defining a partnership and creating a marriage of equals.

"You think you're living _at my mercy_?"

She looks straight at him. "Aren't I?" It's worse than a sting, and he has to bite his tongue. Regina looks away, dropping her eyes down and grimacing, and for a moment, he thinks she might apologize and say she didn't mean that. But instead, when she looks back, she shakes her head. "I'm going to bed," she tells him. "I'm tired."

"I am, too, but I think we need to talk about this."

"There's little point in that," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "You'll just ignore me."

With that, she walks away, leaving him standing in the middle of hallway, unable to sort his thoughts and feelings. In the back of his head, there's a little voice that tells him she's partially right—she did ask him to leave it alone and he did lie to her that night—but still, to imply that she has no autonomy because of him, that she lives completely _at his mercy_ suggests something he's uncomfortable with and suggests something that's patently untrue.

And again, that implication gets under his skin.

Nothing about this day has gone the way he intended, so why would it end in the way he intended?

Turning on his heels he sulks toward the stairs. If he goes to bed now, he'll either end up in a fight with Regina or lie there alone tossing and turning, and neither of those things are anything that he's interested in doing. So, instead, he goes down to the empty library and pours himself a large glass of bourbon, deciding to drink his feelings until he passes out.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.


	31. Chapter 31

He's not sure that he even slept.

His head is throbbing at the temples and behind his eyes, and he feels vaguely nauseous. His mouth is dry and pasty, and when he swallows, he can taste the liquor in his mouth, though it's been hours since his last drink. He hadn't been picky about what he started with, and worked his way through the whiskey his father always kept on hand and a nice bottle of cognac that was kept for special occasions that never seemed to come. He'd drank until his vision was hazy and his thoughts were blurry, and when he'd fallen back into the armchair in front of the hearth, he'd thrown his glass into the dwindling fire, lamenting there was no more within his reach to drink.

He's not sure what happened after that. Everything just sort of… blurred together.

His thoughts flitted aimlessly back and forth and around again. They moved from what happened that night with Jefferson to the sting of Regina's words and the guilt that bubbled up in him as soon as she said them. The jumped from the favor his father had done for him to the riddles Mr. Gold spun to the good day he and Regina had been having before entering the tavern. For whatever reason, that last bit-the lightheartedness of Reigna's mood, her laugh and smile, and how it all came crashing down-made him the angriest.

He'd seen none of this coming, but especially not that.

Eventually, though, the fire faded out and eventually the morning sun came in through the windows.

And eventually, the regret set in.

This had been a stupid choice-a stupid choice to cap off a night of stupid choices.

Grimacing, he sits up, groaning as the ache in his head pulses.

His eye catches a glimpse of the portrait above the hearth that's been there for as long as he can remember-an oil painting that his father commissioned when he was young. He's sitting on his mother's lap, and she's sitting in a stately-looking chair while his father stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder and the other tucked into his pocket. His mother wears a faint smile and he looks as angelic as any two-year old might as he twists a long pearl necklace between his little fingers, but his father gazes out sternly-and it's that stern look that finally pushes him up and out of his chair.

"It's been a long while since I've found you this way."

Robin blinks as a blurry John looks up from a newspaper. He squints and rubs at his dry eyes, then looks again to his valet, sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the table in front of it. "What time is it?"

"Oh, well before eight," John says easily, glancing up again from the paper. "There's a story here… about a brawl at the local tavern."

Robin grimaces and presses his eyes closed, mutter a low _fuck me_ under his breath.

"Says the assailant _looked_ an awful lot like the town's benefactor's son-"

"Looked-"

"Yes, but upon further inquiry, the watchmen came to the conclusion that the younger Mr. Locksley was at home with his wife and children," John says, looking back to the newspaper. "Something about in the midst of a bedtime routine."

Robin's eyes open and instantly narrow. "It really says that?"

"It does."

"Oh-"

"It _nearly_ sounds believable."

Robin nods. "Yes. Nearly."

"Upon further inquiry at the tavern, the watchmen determined that the men who witnesses the brawl couldn't be certain of the man's identity… which, they attribute to the alcohol."

"I see."

"Apparently, the assailant's target had been drinking and gambling all day," John says. "Cheating at cards. He got caught earlier that day."

"So surprising."

"Mm, so, the watchmen believe that someone he swindled came back for him."

"Interesting-"

"It is," John agrees, setting down the paper. "It's complete and utter rubbish, but it is interesting."

Robin's brow arches. "Suppose I have an evil twin."

John nods. "I could… except for the fact I was the one who saddled up your horse when you said you needed to run an errand into town… and then explained it was to pummel Jefferson Hatfield to a pulp."

Robin feels a prickle run up his spine. "Well-"

"Of course, I somehow managed to forget those details when the watchmen asked me last night." A grin twists onto his lips. "I'd just finished putting your horse into his stall when they arrived. I told them I was checking on Henry's horse."

"Ah-"

A little chuckle bubbles out of John as he rises. "You know how young boys can be-so eager to do things for themselves, but not always careful about detail."

"Yes," Robin says, nodding as he clears his throat and thinks how unlike Henry that would be. "Indeed."

"So, no harm, no foul, right?"

"Something like that."

"Did you get in a good punch?"

"I got in a few."

"Good-"

"I'm not so sure," Robin says, sighing. "Regina's upset."

"Of course she is. You lied to her-"

"And did exactly what she asked me not to do."

"But did it feel good?" John asks. "Did hitting him make you feel any better?"

"I… don't know. In the moment, yes. In the moment, it felt _so_ good. But then… something overcame me, and I didn't want to stop."

"But you did."

"Yes."

"Then-"

"Then, I came home and…"

"You didn't feel so good."

Robin frowns. "No."

"Because Regina's upset about it."

"And because I owe my father."

"How much?"

Robin sighs and shakes his head. "Too much."

"I'm sure he said he'll take it from your inheritance," John says, shrugging. "He always says that and then never does."

"I don't like owing him."

John nods. "Debt of any kind to someone who you don't get on well with is always an uncomfortable thing."

"I have enough to cover it," Robin says, talking more to himself than to John. "More than enough."

"So, problem solved."

Robin nods. "I hate to take it from the return on the investments Regina and I made, but-"

"If it'll clear your head-"

Again, Robin nods. "It will, and that money is mine, free and clear. It's nothing to do with my father."

"So, the debt will be erased completely."

"Yes."

Robin draws in a breath, turning his head from side to side and letting his neck crack. He doesn't want to go into town or sit in the bank manager's office or fill out the necessary withdrawal forms. Instead, he wants a warm rag, a headache powder, and his own bed.

"Will you get my horse prepared for-"

"After I prepare you."

Looking down at himself. "Oh, I'm fine to go as I am."

John's eyes narrow. "Are you?"

"I'm dressed and-"

"And look like you were in a brawl last night." John's nose scrunches slightly. "At least put on a shirt that doesn't have blood on the cuff."

Blinking, Robin looks down at his sleeve. "Son of a bitch-" 

"Wash up. You look like hell. You've got bags underneath your eyes and your hair looks like some little woodland creature tried to make a nest of out it."

Robin blinks and his temples pulse. "I know I've always encouraged you to speak your mind-"

John laughs. "You've known me far too long not to allow that."

Robin frowns. That's true enough. John has been with him since he was just a bit older than Henry is now. He'd been hired as a companion for the lonely only child-an only child who struggled to make friends because he had a penchant for stealing things he felt they didn't need or properly care for.

"Come on," John says easily. "If you're nice to me and do as I ask, I'll put a little honey in your wash water."

Robin's brow furrows. "Why would you do that?"

"Vapors."

"Vapors?"

John laughs. "My mother swears by it, and who am I to argue?"

"Everyone knows vapors are made up-"

"I won't argue with my mother and experience tells me honeyed water works to relieve a headache."

Sighing, they start toward the stairs. "But-"

"It's better than the alternative."

Robin blinks. "And what is the alternative? Other than a medication that actually works?"

A tight, coy smile stretches across his lips. "Well, short of an eel to send a shock through you, trepanning."

"You mean… drilling holes in my head. That's your other suggestion?"

"People have been doing it for centuries."

"And dying."

John laughs. "Well, their headache goes away, then, doesn't it?"

"You're an asshole," Robin says, sighing as his eyes roll.

"An asshole, but your only friend." Then a hearty laugh escapes him. "And a paid one, at that."

"You're fired."

"You can't fire me."

"Sure, I can."

"Yes, when your father dies."

"I have… other friends."

John laughs. "Sure, I'll give you that. You have _one_ more friend."

"See-"

"But she's mad at you right now."

Robin groans as they start toward the stairs. He's not in the mood for any of this-not the banter, not the pending errand, and certainly not the _cackle_ he hears coming from the top of the stairs.

Bewildered, he looks to John.

"Zelena awoke early," John says, rolling his eyes. "To everyone's great delight."

"Did she stay in her suite? I hardly need her blabbing to my father that I slept-"

"Yes. She had a guest, I think."

"A guest-"

"Early this morning, she took a meeting in her sitting room."

Robin's brow creases. "With whom?"

"I didn't care enough to inquire."

Robin shrugs. "That's fair."

"She's probably going down to breakfast now."

Stepping off the stair, Robin shakes his head and starts toward the opposite end of the corridor. "We're taking the servant's stairs. I'd rather not bump into her."

"Fair enough," John says, chuckling slightly. "You'll get no complaint from me. The less I bump into her the happier I am."

They end up in his former bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed while John choses a new set of clothes and prepares a pitcher and basin-and just as promised, he adds a spoonful of honey to the water. He cleans him up and combs his hair, dressing him before sponging on the honeyed water, which Robin begrudgingly allows.

When John is done with him, he looks almost as if he didn't spend the entire night drinking-almost, but not quite. And he makes it a point to inform him that the honeyed water did not work to relieve his throbbing head. John shrugs and tells him he's stubborn, then helps him into his coat.

John stays back to clean up while he goes downstairs, intentionally circumventing the dining room where his father and Zelena are eating. From what he can tell, the mood is tense-his father's scowling and Zelena looks vexed-and if he didn't have such a headache, he'd pop in, just to rile things up. But instead, he passes by unnoticed.

He walks to the stables, finding the air is bitterly cold, and his cloak is entirely too thin. He's shivering by the time he reaches the stables. Quickly, he saddles up his horse and takes the same shortcut through the woods he took the night before, and he arrives just as the banker is opening up the doors.

The banker greets him gingerly as he always does-which is entirely based upon the amount of money his family holds there and nothing to do with being personable-and Robin explains his situation. As they enter, the banker opens up the office and fishes out the necessary forms. Robin sits at the desk and scowls at the small print-his eyes aching as he struggles to read it-and finally, when they're filled out, he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Then, finally, he's handed a slip that indicates the transfer from his personal account to the Sherwood account that his father micromanages was made.

It stings a little and as he leaves, guilt prickles up his spine. He hates that the had to use some of this money-money meant for him and Regina and their boys to start a new life, money meant for his family's security-to pay off a debt to his father over an incredibly stupid mistake.

Then, kicking the sides of his horse, he shrugs it off and races back to Sherwood, hoping to be back before Regina wakes-and hoping that sleep has calmed her down.

From the window of the small sitting room attached to their bedroom suite, Regina watches as Robin rides across the lawn-and she wonders where he's coming back from and how long he's been away.

The spot beside her was cold when she woke, and the pillow and blanket undisturbed. After walking away from him the night before, she undressed herself and got into a nightgown. She'd kept the fire going as she crawled into bed, and she stayed up as late as she could, just waiting to see if Robin came to bed.

She hoped that he would.

She hoped that they could talk.

She hoped that she could more calmly explain herself-tell him that she hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, that she'd poorly chosen her words, that she hadn't meant to accuse him of making her a kept woman. And that hadn't been at all what she meant, despite the way that it sounded.

But she was upset and her emotions raged. Her words got jumbled in her head and when they came out, they came out wrong. She'd been too frazzled to correct herself and too mad to want to-but she hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, and deep down, she knew that he didn't mean to upset her.

He'd been angry at the situation-and this sort of behavior was still new to him.

She'd learned to deal with it, to shroud in the shadows and make herself as invisible as possible-after all, if she was out of sight, she was out of mind, and the longer she stayed that way and the longer people didn't think of her, the more her indiscretions would fade away. When she and Henry moved back to Dragon Head, that had been her plan, and it'd worked. People eventually stopped talking about the disgraced, prodigal daughter scandal didn't go away, and as she well-knew, the story cropped up every now and then, but for the most part, she'd been able to give a quiet life away.

And that was how she spent the earliest months of her marriage.

But Robin wasn't used to that and he didn't understand it.

Sure, he'd been a relative recluse, not often attending social engagements or fraternizing with the men or couples of his age group.

But he lived by a different set of rules.

He could do that. His gender and position allowed that-no matter how strange people thought he was.

But Robin hadn't come up to bed and she never got the chance to explain herself.

She'd waited up until the sun was peeking up over the trees and she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. It seemed she'd barely closed her eyes when Mal was waking her up, explaining in too-quick a voice that Belle was still feeling under the weather, and she'd made an executive decision-which she knew she had no right to make-to give her one more day in bed to ensure she'd kicked whatever bug had overtaken her.

Regina nodded blindly, agreeing-and she thinks she meant it-and only half listening.

Mal led her into the little dressing room at the back of her bedchamber, and stripped her down, offering up two choices of dresses. She'd only shrugged and told Mal to pick, and she stood there like a inanimate doll, letting Mal stuff her into the the cream-colored long-sleeve dress spotted with little brown flowers.

When she was dressed, Mal took out her braid and pinned her hair, letting it hang down over her shoulders. Mal giggled as she chose an ivory comb for her hair. Regina shrugged when Mal asked if she wanted the rest of her hair up, and when she indicated didn't care, Mal patted her shoulders and told her she was going to wake the boys.

Regina nodded and watched her go, then frowned at her reflection.

She looked tired and she _felt_ worse than she looked-and that made her grumpy…

Blinking, she looks to the door, listening as footsteps near. She swallows. She knows the footsteps-and for a moment, she thinks up a quick apology. But everything she thinks to say seems to fall short or not quite explain what she really means-and that only frustrates her.

"You look like hell," she says instead as Robin enters the room.

Robin blinks, almost blankly. "Yes. Well. Good morning to you, too."

She bristles. This isn't how she wanted to start the conversation. "Where were you?"

"What?"

"I saw you riding across the lawn."

"Oh. Right," he murmurs. "The bank."

"Why?"

"The same reason anyone goes to the bank. I needed to make a transaction."

Regina frowns as Robin flops down into one of the chairs by the window. He's usually not this short with her.

"What was the transaction for?"

"My father," he says., sighing as he reaches for the cord on the window, tugging at it until the curtain falls. "I needed to pay my debt."

"How much?"

He blinks. "Too much."

"That's not an amount."

She grimaces. It doesn't matter. What's done is done, and truly, she doesn't care about the amount of money. She meant to sound curious, but her voice sounded more frustrated than she intended.

Robin doesn't reply, instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a bank slip. His eyes close and his head falls back as he extends the slip to her on his fingertips. A bit awkwardly, she shifts herself to him and takes it; but she doesn't look at it, instead, she just looks at him, again trying to muster an apology.

"You… didn't come to bed last night."

"I didn't think you wanted me to."

"Well, you… you share this room, so…"

"I've spent the last several nights sleeping elsewhere," he tells her. "What's one more night?"

She frowns. She hadn't expected that. "Well, that was… different. Henry was sick and-"

"It wasn't intentional."

She blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I passed out. In the library."

"Oh-"

"I fell asleep in a chair."

"That sounds… uncomfortable."

Robin shrugs. "I'm used to it."

Again, she bristles, not quite sure what that means or how to take it; but nonetheless, it annoys her. "So, you… drank yourself stupid and passed out. That's what you're telling me?"

"I suppose it is."

Her jaw tightens. "So, instead of facing me, you… got drunk."

"I suppose that's the sum of it."

Again, she tenses. She spent the night worrying about him-worrying that she'd ruined something between them, that one poor word choice changed something between them-and all the while, he was downstairs, drinking.

"I just wanted to forget it all."

"So, you wanted to forget… me and what I said."

"Well, it was a shitty thing to say, but-"

"Well, you did a shitty thing." Her shoulder square as his eyes open, and she feels herself growing defensive. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said what I said, but perhaps you shouldn't have done what you did."

Robin stares blankly at her for a moment, then, with a sigh, his head falls back. "This isn't worth the fight."

"Isn't it, though?" she asks, again her defense piquing. "It was worth getting stupid drunk. So, you obviously care, so why not-"

"Damn it, Regina. I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what you want me to do."

She feels her jaw tighten as her cheeks warm. "Well, I can tell you what I _don't_ want you to do. I don't want you to blow things out of proportion, as you've already done. I don't want you to lie to me or dismiss my wishes or feelings, and I don't want you to make an uncomfortable situation worse-"

"So, we're back to this-"

"Did we ever leave it?"

Robin sighs, rubbing two fingers against his forehead. "Your situation is only uncomfortable because-"

"Because of _my_ choices. No one else's. No one else is to blame. It's just me. And you can disagree with that, and to be perfectly honest, I _love_ you for disagreeing with that, but at the end of the day, you're the only one who sees my situation as you see it."

Robin blinks-he looks like he's not quite following.

"But I've lived with this longer than you have, and I understand there are different rules for different people. That's just the way the world works. I don't make the rules, but neither do you, and we both have to live by them, whether we like them or not."

For a moment, he's silent-and then, he shakes his head. "I don't accept that."

"But _I_ have to."

Again, he shakes his head-and then, he offers a sardonic little chuckle. "Right, because you're not just at _my mercy_ , you're at the mercy of the whole world."

She swallows. That's not an inaccurate statement. She _is_ at the mercy of the world; but she's never felt as _his_ mercy. She'd said it, of course, but she hadn't meant it in the way that he'd taken it. She'd meant that the only reason anyone was inclined to treat her nicely was because of her marriage to him and his status within the town, and the only reason she was allowed to live a comfortable life was because he'd decided to marry her and give her that comfort. As a man of considerable wealth, he could make those choices, and everyone just had to grit their teeth and accept it, no matter how undeserving they deemed her.

And they did deem her undeserving-from the barkeeper at the tavern to his father-she was not worthy of the second chance her husband had afforded her. So, if something happened to Robin, the world wouldn't hesitate to take it all away-and her father-in-law would be at the front of the line to do so.

"You should know that's not what I meant-at least not about you."

"Should I?"

"Robin, this is all very complicated and-"

"Is it, though?"

"Yes."

"I don't see it that way."

"Because you don't _have_ to see it that way!"

"Or perhaps you're choosing not to."

She scoffs and shakes her head. "I don't have choices."

"Sure you do. We all do."

She nods. "To an extent." Drawing in a breath, she tires to tamp down her anger-and she _is_ angry that he doesn't understand and that he doesn't seem to even be trying to understand. "I didn't mean that I am living at _your_ mercy… not exactly."

"Yet, that's what you said."

"I misspoke! Damn it, Robin. I misspoke. I was upset! I was mad at you! I was mad at myself! I _hate_ myself for doing what I did, and I hate myself for the way it's affected my son and the way it now affects you. But there was some truth in what I said. Mercy wasn't the right word, I'll own that. But I am here at your _grace_."

"Is that different?"

"Yes! It is! If you weren't here, if something happened to you-"

"I have a will," he says simply, cutting in and shrugging in a way that seems to diminishing. "You are my benefactor."

"And your father would not hesitate in challenging it."

"It's legally binding-"

"No! It's not!" she cuts in. "The laws are not on our side. I can't inherit."

"But you can hold-"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "It is so kind and so wonderful that you included my son in your will-"

"I consider him my son, too-"

"I know you do, and I love you for that, but the truth is, the law does not see it that way-"

"Yes, it does. I signed-"

"Your father could _easily_ convince a judge to say that you were persuaded, that I forced you or blackmailed you or..." She sighs, throwing up her hands as tears burn in her eyes. "I would lose everything you think I'd be left, including Roland. Your father would be sure of it-if not to stick it to me, then to stick it to my mother."

"Your mother is irrelevant to this."

"No, she's not, and I am not claiming that she's innocent or deserves anything from your family, but-"

"But _all_ of this is irrelevant. Nothing happened, Regina. You're getting upset over-"

"It almost did! It almost happened last night!"

"No-"

"Robin, if your father hadn't just written a cheque-"

"And this isn't _nothing_."

"Yes, it is. Nothing-"

"Are my feelings nothing?"

Her voice cracks when she asks, and he sighs, again rubbing his fingers at his forehead. He looks frustrated and when he looks back at her and sees her trembling jaw, he shakes his head and looks away.

"I… am too hungover to do this right now."

"Robin, this isn't-"

"I can't do this right now," he tells her again, this time, stepping around her. "Perhaps later would be a better time, perhaps then we can talk about this more rationally-"

"I'm _not_ irrational."

"And I don't think I am either."

He says no more.

He just leaves.

And then, the tears burning in her eyes being to slip down her hot, flushed cheeks; and once again, she hates herself for every stupid choice that led her to this moment, the stupid choice that seems to taint every good thing she has, the stupid choice that won't fizzle into her past, the stupid choice that sentenced her to the life of a marked woman.

The rest of the day is uncomfortable, at best.

She doesn't see Robin after their brief and snarky exchange that morning-and that only further proves her point to herself, making her feel isolated and alone.

The boys ask again and again where Robin is, and she tells them the watered-down version of what she knows-he didn't sleep well, so he's napping.

She picks at her breakfast which earns another round of questions from Henry and Roland. Roland accepts her excuses, but Henry looks worried, asking again and again if he got her sick-a possibility he seems quite anxious and guilty over. So, she puts on a smile and tries to reassure him, all the while trying to avoid Mal's narrow gaze.

When breakfast is done, Mal sends the boys off to their room to put on sweaters and change from their shoes to their boots. She makes a passing comment about how fortunate they are that Henry has two good, thick quilted coats because Roland's arms are getting too long for his own, and Regina tells her about the appointment she wants to make with Ruby to fit the boys for new wardrobes.

Mal laughs and says she hopes that's tomorrow because both boys are growing like weeds, and Regina says when Ruby comes to drop off a package later that afternoon, the three of them should talk about it. Mal tells her to make the appointment, and she'll work the boys' lessons around whatever she chooses, then asks permission to take the to Dragon Head for the late morning and afternoon. Mal doesn't say it's to get them out of the house or because Henry's already picking up on the tension, but it goes without saying-so, Regina agrees, explaining that the boys had a great time playing with the animals and her father in the barn the last time they were there.

Together, they get the boys ready and Roland chatters on about the fat cat that cuddled with him before-and when Mal corrects him, telling him the cat was pregnant with kittens, he only shrugs and adds that she was still fat and still cuddly. Henry asks if they can ride horses instead of walk and Mal nods easily as she looks to Regina, who also nods-and then, before Henry can celebrate, she adds a stern _you can ride with Mal, not on your own_ that leaves Henry scowling at her.

After they leave, that lonely, isolated feeling returns, so she busies herself with going through the boys' things. She spends the day measuring shirts and breeches and casting ones that won't fit either of them into a donation pile, and she makes a list of all the things each boy will need. She moves some of Henry's old things to Roland's side of the closet, and when she sees how much longer Henry's list of needs are compared to Roland's, she adds a few extra things to Roland's list. She hesitates momentarily-considering the cost of redoing an entire wardrobe for two still-growing children-but then, reminds herself that they're not exactly on a budget.

She bristles as she thinks about the banking slip Robin had handed her-the one she didn't look at, but knew likely noted a hefty sum-and decides if they can afford to pay off watchmen, they can afford a few extra woolen sweaters and linen shirts for Roland.

Biting down on her lip, she looks at the mess she's made-things that should be donated and things that can be repurposed or mended-and she begins to sort. She arranges the clothes to be donated by type, laying them out on each of the beds. When she looks around, the mess is only minorly better, and she sighs.

It's not lost on her that no maid has come into the nursery-likely knowing that she's in there-so, she steps into the hall in search of either a hall boy who can assist her or a linen closet that might have something in it to bundle up or store the donations.

She roams around for a few minutes, finding no hall boy in that part of the hall, but she does find the linen closet at the end of the hall, near the servants' staircase.

 _I heard she had a gentleman caller._

 _Ooh, from who?_

 _One of the hallboys told me._

Regina's eyes roll as two maids giggle from the stairwell.

 _Well that isn't what I heard. I heard that Mr. Locksley didn't sleep in his own bed._

At that, Regina stiffens.

 _The old one or the young one?_

 _Ew, the young one. He and the wife had a row._

 _How do you know that?_

 _A hall boy overheard._

Regina's eyes roll as she stands in front of the cabinet, rooted in place, barely able to breathe.

 _So, Mr. Locksley slept in Ms. Mills' room with Ms. Mills-and that's the Ms. Mills that isn't his wife?_

 _That's what the hallboy said_.

Regina feels heat rising up the back of her neck, her jaw tightening as she thinks of all the times Robin and Mal have pointed out the maids' rudeness where she's concerned. She doesn't believe a word of what they're saying, they're just stirring up gossip, but she's hardly in the mood for it. Drawing in breath, she holds it in her chest as she works up the courage to slam the cabinet's door-and then, when she hears both maids gasp, she pushes open the door to the stairwell, finding them frozen and wide-eyed.

"I've done some sorting in my sons' room," she says curtly as she looks between the maids, her fingers gripping the door handle to keep herself from shaking. "The donations need to be bundled."

They stare blankly, nodding.

"There's also a pile to be mended and some things that are beyond repair that can be repurposed, too," she says, her hand that's hidden aching as she holds on a bit tighter. "And while you're in there, the beds need to be made."

"Oh, I-"

"Isn't the nanny-"

"No," she cuts in. "My husband made it quite clear when Mal was hired what her obligations are and what obligations belong to _you_." Taking a short breath, she looks between them, hoping she doesn't look as scared as she feels. "Now that you've had a reminder, this shouldn't happen again."

"Y-yes, of course-"

"And for the record," she says, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she looks to the one she assumes was speaking. "Where my husband slept last night isn't for you to speculate about or even to wonder about."

The maid looks down as the other maid's cheek's flush, both seeming quite embarrassed-and both likely very much needing the job at Sherwood.

"And I can say, quite confidently, your informant had it wrong-he was not Zelena's gentleman caller."

Regina takes a step back and the maids scurry away toward the nursery-and as soon as they're out of sight, she falls back against the door, her heart racing and her lungs desperate for the air she'd been depriving them. She takes a minute to try and calm herself, taking long, deliberate breaths and hoping Robin didn't drink so much he lost memory of what transpired the night before-and when a little voice at the back of her head, one that sounds an awful lot like her mother and always creeps out when she's feeling most insecure, reminds her of the rumor she heard about him kissing Zelena weeks before and the fact that he once got so drunk that he took a maid from another house to bed while married to Marian, her stomach churns.

It seems an eternity before Mal returns with the boys-and even longer before Robin emerges from his former room.

A footman brings up their dinner, and as they've lately done, they eat in the boys' sitting room around the round table by the hearth while Mal takes a much-earned break. As they sit down, she notes that Robin looks decidedly less rough than he did earlier that day; it's obvious that the sleep was needed and did him some good. She also notices that he keeps looking to her-looking like there's something he wants to say-but time and time again, he doesn't say it.

All through dinner, the boys keep the conversation going, telling story after story about their afternoon adventures at Dragon Head. Henry goes on and on about her father taking them for a ride on his horse-how fast he let the horse run and how much colder and more refreshing the wind was when when they were riding, and how he took both him and Roland separately, twice. Henry also tells stories about the young goats and how much bigger they are, how he and Roland laughed and laughed as they jumped over each other and head-butted each other, and Henry explains how important he felt when his grandpapa took him into the little back office in the barn and showed him the ledgers that tracked grain production.

"That's where we saw the kitties!"

"Kitties?" Regina asks, looking to Roland.

"The fat cat had her kitties!"

"How many were there?" Robin asks.

"Six."

"They were really tiny," Henry adds. "They were just born a couple of days ago."

"One was even tinier than the rest of 'em," Roland says. "He was my favorite."

"They were _all_ cute," Henry says.

"But this one was definitely the cutest of the whole liter," Roland states, as if absolute fact. "He was orange."

Both she and Robin chuckle softly, and for a brief second, their eyes meet-Roland seems also smitten with the tiny kitten and she's sure he finds it as cute as she does-but then, he looks away.

"Were any of the other kittens orange?"

"Just him," Roland says, beaming as if an orange cat is something truly rare and spectacular.

Roland keeps talking about the kitten all through dinner-and every now and then, she or Robin pipe in with a question or a comment, and from the outside looking in, it appears that everything is normal.

But it feels like they're each having a separate conversation, each time they respond to one of the boys, rather than talking to them together. They don't play off of each other the way that they normally do, and aside from that one brief moment, they don't make eye contact.

And there's a tension between them. She can feel it, and given the way Henry keeps looking between them, he can feel it, too.

As Robin and Henry shift the conversation away from the orange kitten that Roland's so enamored with-shifting it to a discussion about Henry's horse and when he can ride him on his own-she can't help but notice this is the sort of topic that Robin would normally include her in on, even if Henry's questions were directed at him.

But she sits beside him, almost unnoticed, watching as Roland happily eats a bowl of chocolate pudding. She shifts uncomfortably as she thinks about their fight and thinks about how dismissive he seemed that morning. Of course, he didn't look well, likely due to a hangover, but he could barely look at her and he barely accepted her explanations. Perhaps, he disagreed, or perhaps, he was still too angry to have a conversation, or perhaps he just really was that hungover-but that nagging little voice in the back of her head that she couldn't shut up before starts chirping again. It reminds her of what the maids said, of what the hallboy supposedly knew, of where Robin might've spent his drunken night-and her stomach lurches.

She doesn't think he'd intentionally hurt her that way and she doesn't think he'd ever intentionally make that choice-but the voice reminds her that he was very drunk the night before and quite distant that morning, and as much as she doesn't hold his drunken, adulterous one night stand against him, the voice reminds her that this _has_ happened before.

And she knows Zelena, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd tried to seduce him.

A wave of nausea hits her and she clears her throat, feeling hot tears burning in her eyes and beads of sweat forming on her brow.

"Mama," Henry says, abruptly shifting the focus to hers. "You didn't eat."

"What?" She looks down at her plate. "I… I suppose I wasn't very hungry."

"You… look sick."

"Oh, I'm just… not feeling as well as I could."

Roland blinks up at her from his pudding, looking concerned. "Are you getting sick?"

"No. I'm just-I just took a turn, briefly-"

"I was sick," Henry says. "I could've gotten you sick."

Regina forces a smile, decidedly not looking at Robin. "No, I just… it's not that sort of sick, Henry."

"How do you know that for sure?" he asks, sounding alarmed.

"There's different types of sick?" Roland asks.

"Regina," Robin murmurs, finally chiming in as he reaches for her hand-and instinctively, she pulls it back, an action she immediately regrets. "You know, I think I'm going to go and lie down."

"Should I send in Mal?" Henry asks. "She was really good when-"

"No, I think I just need to lay down," Regina says, her stomach twisting as the voice in her head continues to scream things she doesn't want to believe, things that she _doesn't_ believe. "After a quick nap, I'll be good as new."

It feels like the walls are closing in.

Her heart is racing and she feels on the verge of tears, and she just wants the patronizing voice in her head to stop. She reminds herself that she doesn't believe that Robin would intentionally hurt her in that way, that he knows how fragile she feels her security is, and that his standoffish behavior was simply the result of an argument-and really, that was more of a misunderstanding, at least on his end.

Logically, she knew that. In her heart, she knew that. But for whatever reason, she couldn't convince herself.

She's not sure what it is about this particular moment, or why it's taken all day for her to feel this way. Once upon a time, it hadn't been so uncommon. When she was married to Daniel, it popped up occasionally, catching her off guard; then, after his death, it'd been her near-constant state. In the earliest days of her marriage to Robin, she second guessed everything. But she'd learned to trust him-and he'd earned that trust and deserved it now, even if she was mad at him for acting like a fool the night before.

And while she _knew_ that, she couldn't seem to make it matter-and she hated that his eyes were now on her, watching as she melted down, and worse, that both boys were watching.

"Mama-"

"Are you okay?"

Robin reaches for her, taking her hand-and she grimaces at herself when she pulls away again.

"I'm just feeling a bit under the weather," she says, swallowing hard and doing her best to keep her composure. "I think if I just lay down-"

"I can come with-"

She shakes her head and smiles, hating that Robin looks alarmed-and hating _this_ seems to be what broke the tension between them.

"Regina, I can-"

"No, you stay and finish dinner."

"Did I get you sick?" Henry asks again.

"I'll be fine," she insists, rising up from the table. "I just need to lay down."

She can feel their eyes on her as she leaves-and as soon as she's in the hall, her tears begin to fall and she's heaving for air. She stands outside the door, taking long and deliberate breaths, focusing on that and not the voice in her head and wishing more than anything she didn't feel so insecure.

Robin stands in the center of his old bedroom, feeling lost.

Though this bedroom had been his for most of his adult life, it no longer feels like his space. It feels lonely and isolated, and so incredibly foreign without Regina's things scattered amongst his.

When he'd tucked the boys in-and reassured Henry for what felt like the umteenth time that he hadn't gotten his mother sick-and turned them back over to Mal's care, it occurred to him to join Regina in their bedchamber, but as he made his way down the hall, he's pace slowed and he wasn't sure that she wanted him.

He'd spent the better part of the day in this room, laying in bed and metaphorically kicking himself.

Regina had some valid points-and when she explained herself, he couldn't help but realize how clear it was what she meant the night before. Then, emotions had been running high and he couldn't see it, but now that he was calmer and had more of her perspective, he knew that he'd crossed a line.

They both did.

That morning, it seemed that she was ready to talk, but he'd been too hungover to do that. He'd been short and distant, and he knew her feelings were only further hurt-and he knew that an apology was in order.

Of course, that was if she'd still accept it...

"Ah, here you are."

He turns at the sound of John's voice. "Yes."

"I was hoping I wouldn't find you here," John muses, "But I suppose it's an improvement on last night's condition."

"I'm not in the mood for teasing."

"I'm not teasing," John says. "That's a perfectly accurate, straight comment. No jeers intended."

"She's still mad."

"Of course she is," John says, looking directly at him. "She asked you not to do something, and you did it."

"I know-"

"She asked you to drop a matter, and you didn't."

Robin's brow creases. "Who've you been talking to?"

"Mal."

"Ah-"

"Then, to make matters worse, the watchmen show up, drag you out of your children's nursery and-"

"I _know that_ ," Robin says, his jaw tightening as he cuts in. "I get it."

"Alright, so have you apologized for your end of it?"

"No."

"Well, I think we've figured out why your wife's still mad at you."

Robin blinks as John chuckles. "I… don't know that she wants to see me. She couldn't wait to get away from me earlier, she practically recoiled when I reached for her hand."

"Again, I'm sure if you were to apologize for being a complete ass-"

Robin sighs and his eyes fall away from John's. "And suppose the damage is already done?"

"I doubt-"

"Regina doesn't trust easily. She doesn't think…" He sighs, rubbing his fingers to his brow as he looks back to John. "She's convinced that the entire world is against her-"

"Minus you."

Robin shrugged. "Two days ago, sure-"

"You're on her side," John says. "You just… had a shitty way of showing it."

"She asked me to let it go and I didn't, and-it's not the first time I lied to her about something stupid."

John nods. "The rumor about the red-headed nightmare kissing you?"

"Yes," Robin sighs. "Only that it wasn't a rumor. Zelena did kiss me."

John's face screws up. "Did you kiss her back?"

"No," he's quick to say. "I pushed her away."

John nods. "Were you near a hearth?"

Robin's eyes narrow and his head tips, as a little chuckle escapes John. "What?"

"A bit of a harder shove, and she'd have been in the fire. Then, we'd all be rid of that witch."

"And the watchmen would have surely arrested me on charges my father couldn't pay to have dropped."

"But it's still technically legal to burn a witch at the stake. You were only missing a stake, and I'm sure a judge could've forgiven you that?"

In spite of himself, Robin laughs. "You really hate her, don't you?"

"With the passion of a thousand suns."

"Why?"

"She acts like she's the Lady of the House, yet can't seem to differentiate between a footman, the butler and a valet." John's eyes roll. "The next time she catches me in the hall and demands a bit of tea in her room, I'm going to pretend I'm hard of hearing."

"She'll lose her mind."

"And hopefully make a scene your father can't ignore."

Robin grins. "Sounds like you've got yourself a plan."

"I've many plans for ridding us all of that woman."

"Another time, I think I'd like to hear them." He takes a breath. "And I think Regina would, too."

John nods, as a soft grin edges onto his lips. "Go talk to her, before she goes to bed, go and talk to her. Smooth things over."

"Suppose she doesn't want to talk to me?"

"Then she's not ready to talk, but at least you'll know, and at least she'll know that you cared enough to try."

Robin smiles and nods, but nonetheless, sits on the edge of the bed. He feels terrible-about last night and this morning, the fact that she went through the entire day on her own in a house full of people who didn't like her, and the fact that so much of what she said had so much truth to it. He knew the world didn't share his outlook-it was why he usually hid away from it-and he knew that the laws and societal opinions weren't on her side. No one would give her the benefit of the doubt, and no one would give her her due in his absence-that was, after all, how she ended up in the position she did after Daniel and that was, after all, why he'd initially felt so inclined to marry her.

His apology-no matter what he said, no matter how heartfelt-would fall short. He couldn't fix the way the world was and he couldn't make the world understand.

Well.

Not as it was and not here.

Now, a change was possibly pushed back-financially speaking-on the account of his poor choices and the heavy debt that came with it. And the worst of it was he wouldn't feel that financial cost-not personally-but she would and that wasn't fair.

"We were supposed to leave here."

"What?"

He looks up. "My plan was to move Regina and the boys up to the hunting lodge."

"You can still-"

"I wanted to be independent of my father."

John shakes his head. "I don't understand what-"

"I was going to buy him out," Robin explains. "I was going to buy the hunting lodge, and have it as my own, free and clear."

"Would he have agreed to that? It's not his favorite piece of the estate, but a piece of the state nonetheless, and he's always so adamant about keeping the estate together."

"He loves money more than this estate, and it's more the idea that I _could_ ," Robin explains. "It's the idea that… that I don't have to live by his rules anymore or minute details of his will."

John's brows arch. "You've done that well with all those railway investments?"

Robin nods. "Thanks to Regina's advice."

"You two make quite a pair."

"I had nothing to do with this. I was leery. Everything I wanted to do, flopped-"

"And everything she trusted flourished."

"Exactly, and… I can't even put her name on the account at the bank, did you know that? That my wife can't even be listed on an account filled with money that she earned?"

"I… knew vaguely of that rule."

"Of course, I have no reason to think the money will stop-"

"No, rail is an industry that's only growing."

Robin nods. "But we were nearly there. By Christmas, I could've sent my father a check and… and been gone." He sighs and shakes his head. "I could have taken her away from here and brought her to a place where she's comfortable, where she'd never be refused service, where people in town don't know every private detail of her life."

"How much did you have to repay your father?"

"Nearly half."

John's brows jut up. "Oh-"

"I… think Regina knows," he says, sighing as he shakes his head. "I gave her the bank slip. I don't know if she looked."

John frowns. "Like you said, the money won't just stop."

"I know, but… how many more days will she have to walk on eggshells? How many more nights will she have to ignore gossipy maids and hallboys? How long-"

"You know," John cuts in. "You could still go."

"I know, but the point was to not have anything hanging over me. I could still manage the estate, of course, I doubt he'd disinherit me."

John nods. "He's too much of a traditionalist to do that."

"But he couldn't hold my inheritance over my head the way he does, using it to manage my choices." Robin sighs. "You know, last night, I kept looking at that portrait over the hearth…"

"The one of you and your parents-"

"Yes," Robin says, nodding. "My mother was such a kind soul. Everyone said so. Kind and forgiving, almost to a fault." He smiles wistfully up at John, remembering the way his mother's friends used to talk about her-how willing to listen she was, how she never judged their choices, but always offered advice, how she warmed a room and-

His thoughts stop abruptly as a memory flickers.

"John, do you remember that summer when my father went to visit, um… what was his name?" His eyes narrow as he strains his memory. "He had a son just a bit older than me, and stepsons-"

"William was the son, I remember." John sighs. "There was another boy in the family, Augustus, who liked to be called John-"

"It was his middle name-"

"And he told me nearly hourly."

Robin grins. "He was young."

"And obnoxious."

"I stole a pair of dice from him," Robin muses as John chuckles. "That's all I remember of any of those boys."

"Why… are you suddenly thinking of them?"

"Because the mother was a friend to my mother. She spoke so kindly of her. They wrote letters," Robin says. "She showed me one that my mother wrote to her announcing that she was pregnant with me."

John's eyes narrow. "I… I still don't understand."

"When I came home, I found the letters in my mother's cottage."

"I imagine that you did."

"You kept watch while I hunted for them."

"I… think I remember that," John says, chuckling softly. "You paid me in desserts."

"There was one, in particular, that was just full of scandal-"

"Ah-"

"I need to find it."

John blinks. "Now?"

"I want to be sure."

"Why?" John asks, shaking his head. "I… I don't understand."

"I just… don't want to speak in falsehoods. I've told Regina enough half truths and have been vague about stupid things, and while this might not fully matter, I don't want to misspeak." John blinks as Robin gets up from the bed. "If Regina asks, please let her know that I went to retrieve something from my mother's cottage and I'll be back before ten."

John just blinks and nods as he moves to the wardrobe, fetching an old coat and putting it on. It seems silly, he knows, but he wants to be sure before he tells the story that doesn't belong to him, but a story that's not unlike his wife's-a story in which a good woman fell from grace, then successfully rose back up to live a respectable life that many envied.

Regina's head turns at the sound of the opening door, and she sighs in disappointment when she watches Mal come through.

"Sorry to disappoint," Mal says, smirking at her. "Belle will be back in commission tomorrow."

"Oh, that's not why-" She stops and sits up. "Never mind."

"You were hoping for Robin."

"He's still upset with me."

"Well, you overreacted. You blew this whole thing completely out of proportion."

Regina blinks as she sits up. "I admit, I… was a little off base with what I said-"

"Jefferson Hatfield had it coming."

Regina sighs and looks away. "No-"

"Yes," Mal counters, folding her arms. "The fact that Robin only punched him a few times really showed restraint, in my opinion."

She bristles. "I asked him not to-"

"Regina," Mal says, cutting in as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. "The reason men like Jefferson Hatfield are able to get away with the things they get away with is because no one holds them accountable. Not ever."

"The rules for-"

"Rules can be changed with time," Mal says. "And the way to do it is to not let the status quo continue." Regina looks away and shakes her head. "I'm not saying it's easy or comfortable or doesn't draw negative attention, but that rumor-the scandal of what happened between the two of you-was dying down."

"Until Zelena dredged it up."

"She couldn't have done it without Jefferson's compliance."

"I know," Regina murmurs. "It's just-"

"Hard."

"Yes."

"And isn't it comforting to know that for all the emotional turmoil you're facing, he's got a bloodied up face and a crooked nose to contend with?"

Regina looks back to Mal and blinks. "How do you-?"

"I don't," Mal sighs. "But a girl can daydream, right?"

For a moment, Regina just stares at her, and then she laughs. "You have a very strange outlook on life, you know that?"

"I've been told that, once or twice," Mal says, smirking as she nudges her. "Just… cut him some slack. He loves you and wants you to be treated well, that's not so bad, right?"

"No," Regina murmurs. "It's not."

"It's sweet-"

"I know."

"He's a catch, Regina. You're lucky. He's not perfect and he's going to screw up every now and then, but he loves you without condition."

"I know," Regina says again. "And I'd like to apologize, but… he doesn't seem interested in hearing it."

Mal's brow furrows. "What makes you say that?"

"He's not here," Regina says simply, shrugging. "Mal, what if I ruined-"

"Oh, stop. You didn't ruin your marriage. You got into an argument. He'll come back...probably with his ears back and his tail between his leg, but he'll come back."

"I miss him."

"And I'm sure he's missing you."

Regina nods and then looks at her hands, folded in her lap, watching as her fingers twist around the fabric of her skirt. "I… had sort of a panic earlier."

"Is that what happened? Henry thinks he got you sick."

"Oh, I know. I-"

"Robin reassured him."

"Did he?" she asks as a smile edges onto her lips. "That's sweet."

"It is. He's sweet with him."

Regina's eyes press closed. "I just… it's selfish, but… but if I lose him-"

"You won't." Regina nods, though she doesn't believe it-last night was a reminder of that, and even if he never did something so foolish again, life offered no guarantees. She, of all people, knew that. "Look, Robin-"

"Did you hear a rumor?" Regina asks. "Are the maids talking downstairs?'

Mal offers a tight grin. "Giggly maids don't really talk to me."

"Oh-"

"Is there something specific?"

Regina shakes her head. "I don't believe it," she says. "There's no point in voicing it."

Mal's eyes narrow, but she nods, then rises up from the bed. "Alright, let's get you changed and ready for bed." Regina nods and Mal takes her hand, pulling her up and leading her toward the dressing room. "What… what's that?" she asks, pointing to a white box on the bed that's tied up in a red bow.

"Oh, Ruby dropped it off. It's… just something that I ordered."

"Did you talk to her about the boys' wardrobes?"

"I did," Regina confirms. "She's going to check her calendar and write me with a few dates tomorrow."

"Good. You'll keep me informed?"

"Of course."

"Good," Mal says, with a curt nod and a smile. "Then that's that."

"I'm sure the boys will be _thrilled_ about it. They hate being still, especially for long periods of time."

Mal laughs. "Maybe we can turn it into some sort of game or contest."

"Perhaps-" 

"Can I?" Mal asks, pointing to the box. "Ruby always makes such lovely things." Regina's eyes widen and she feels her cheeks warm was she thinks about the lace robe hidden in the box, and as soon as Mal notices her obvious embarrassment, she grins. "Oh, well, now I just have to look!"

"Oh-"

"Please?"

Grimacing, Regina nods. "Fine. I mean… you've dressed me, so you've seen me naked. This can't be worse than-" She stops and watches as Mal unties the ribbon, and she holds her breath as Mal lifts the top of the box-and then, with one eye open, Regina watches as she carefully lifts the lace robe.

"So, something tells me this isn't the dress you'll be wearing to Mary Margaret Blanchard's little soiree," Mal says as she slowly turns to look at her.

"Um, no," Regina murmurs, her cheeks burning. "Not quite the occasion I had in mind."

"Oh?" Mal asks, her brow arching as she looks back to the robe. "This little number has _an occasion_?"

For a moment, Regina hesitates, and then with a deep breath and a soft giggle, she tells her. Some of it isn't new information and some of it is, but she tells the whole story-from what happened the morning after she and Robin were together at the hunting lodge to the tea and assurance caps that Mrs. Beakley sent her home with to Robin's absolute patience with her.

"So, tonight was… going to be the night."

Regina nods. "It was going to be."

"Why can't it still be?"

Regina's brows arch. "Did you… just forget everything about what happened yesterday and today? Including the fact that my husband is nowhere to be found and… well, to do what I was planning on doing, I… sort of need him."

"Well, he's around here somewhere."

"Mal, he's… not… interested in…"

"How do you know?" Mal asks. "He's not here."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Yes, that's… that's my point."

Mal just laughs. "Let it get around that you've got this thing on and he'll be stepping out of the woodwork."

A grin edges onto Regina's lips. "But, it's… it's not that simple."

"Sure it is," Mal insists. "And truly, I think you've preemptively figured out a way to smooth things over with him."

"Have I?"

"Seduce him and have makeup sex."

Regina nearly chokes.

"Oh, come on. He won't stay mad at you and… if he's still upset, this might just be the thing that snaps him out of it." She looks back to the robe and grins. "Because if he looks at you in this, there's really only one place his mind is going to be."

Regina's cheeks flush deeper. "And… suppose he doesn't come tonight? What if I'm just… standing here alone, practically naked and he doesn't come?"

"Oh, he'll be coming." Mal laughs out. "In more ways than one."

Regina's eyes widen. "Oh my god. Mal-"

"Come on, let's get you changed," Mal says, draping the robe over her arm and laughing, "And maybe we can return you to a human shade of skin." Regina's eyes roll as Mal reaches for her and tugs her into the dressing room. "I'll have John send Robin in. I swear, he's like a bloodhound when it comes to him."

"They've been together forever."

Mal nods as they enter the dressing room and she immediately reaches for a hanger. "Last night, we couldn't find him. I spent twenty minutes searching empty bedrooms, and the whole time, he was in the library. John found him in under five minutes." Her eyes roll as she turns Regina toward the mirror. "Drunk and passed out, but of course, he didn't tell _me_ that."

"Why were you looking for him?"

"John was," Mal says, shrugging. "Like I said, he likes to keep tabs on him."

"Oh…"

A little grin edges onto Regina's lips as she thinks about what that means, and her shoulder relax as Mal works on buttons at the back of her dress.

"What should we do with your hair?" Mal asks, snapping her from her thoughts. "Up? Down? What does he like?"

"Oh. I-"

"Does he like to get his hands in it? Or does he-"

"Mal-"

"What?" Mal asks, her eyes widening innocently. "I want to help."

Regina's eyes press closed and a giggle bubbles out of her-and then, as she draws in a breath she concedes and answers all of Mal's questions, regardless of how embarrassing she might find them.

All the way back from his mother's cottage, he rehearses his planned apology.

It starts with a mental list of things he wants to say-things he wants to apologize for-and by the time he reaches the front doors of Sherwood, it's morphed into a full fledged speech.

He'll tell her that he's sorry-that he's sorry for everything.

He's sorry for not listening to her, for ignoring her request to leave it all alone and let the gossip die out, for agreeing to do so and then doing the opposite.

He's sorry for not being more understanding of her situation-it's one she's lived with for years now, and it's still new to him-and regardless of his personal outlook on the world, he knows it's not one that many share. He can't change the world on his own. It's not fair-especially not to her-but he should've been less focused on righting the injustice of the world and more focused on what he could do to create more security at home, where it mattered.

He's sorry for scaring her-for rocking the fragile security she'd come to know since they married-and, he's sorry for scaring their sons.

He's sorry for the financial burden that his poor choices, and the long-term impact of a few foolish minutes.

He's sorry that he hasn't always been completely honest, that he's tried to shield her from truths he feared would be too difficult, that he wasn't totally honest about his whereabouts or intentions, and that he's sorry for any additional stress that it's caused her.

He hadn't meant for this to happen; he hadn't meant to hurt her. She was right, there was a lot he hadn't considered-there was a lot he'd never _thought_ to consider, there were things he'd never _had_ to consider. But they were things that were always at the forefront of her mind, and he should have known that, or at the very least, respected it when she voiced those concerns.

That's, of course, if she'll hear it.

Taking a breath, he opens the door to their bedroom, stepping quickly through the little sitting room of their bedchamber that connects to their proper bedroom-and when he arrives, he frowns when he doesn't see Regina at her dressing table combing her hair in her nightdress or in bed with a book propped up on her knees.

The room is dimmer than it usually is at this time. There are a few candles lit and the fire is burning at the hearth, and he squints as he waits for his eyes to adjust as he looks around aimlessly, wondering what comes next.

"Regina?" he calls, not expecting a reply. "Are you here?"

"In the dressing room."

"Oh," he breathes out, smiling. "I'm glad." He shifts toward the open door. "Can I come in? I want to talk to you."

"No."

"Oh-"

"I'll be out in a second. I'm just finishing up."

He nods, though she can't see him and sits down in the chair by the hearth, fidgeting with his fingers as he waits, silently rehearsing his little speech.

It's not lost on him that the box that Mrs. Beakley gave to her is sitting on the end table beside him; but he thinks nothing of it, assuming that Regina simply had her tea later than she usually did.

And then, she appears.

"I'm sorry-" he says in a burst as he looks up, and as soon as he sees her, his voice halts.

"I'm sorry, too."

"I-"

"I don't want to fight anymore," she tells him as she moves toward him, coming into better view.

He swallows hard and nods dumbly, unable to find his voice.

She looks… stunning.

Her hair is up in a loose bun atop her head, showing off her neck and shoulders-and she's wearing lace.

Just lace.

See through lace.

It covers her shoulders and her breasts-though he can see them almost plainly-and then ties with a ribbon beneath her bust before belling out over her hips and pooling around her feet. It's open from the navel down, and her skin looks soft and smoothing-and it's nearly impossible to resist touching it.

"Can you forgive me for overreacting?"

Again, he nods as he stares.

"I'm glad," she tells him as she crosses the room toward him. "I hate it when we fight."

"Me, too," he says, swallowing as he reaches for her.

Her touch-which is something he should be used to-sends a shiver down his spine. As her hand coasts up over his stubbly cheek, he turns his head into her palm nuzzling it. He missed this. He missed having her close to him, and for a moment, all he wants to do is savor it.

He kisses her palm as he draws her in by the waist, holding her closer as he kisses her wrist and the back of her hand, and then, he looks up at her, smiling at the soft grin on her lips, watching the way she relishes in the soft touches, enjoying being near him as much as he enjoys being so near to her.

"I missed you," he tells her as he leans in and presses a kiss to her neck and then another to her chin. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," she tells him as she presses a quick kiss to his lips. "I missed this."

He thinks to point out that it's only been just a little longer than a day, but that would be a stupid thing to say-and, in truth, it's felt like so much longer than that.

"I've come to realize that I don't like sleeping alone, anymore."

"It's miserable," he tells her as he pecks her lips and lets his hand slide down the back of the lace robe-he can feel the warmth of her skin through it, and he loves the contrast of it against the cool silky lace. "Absolutely miserable."

"We should make up for it," she tells him. "We owe each other that."

Again, he nods-and again, he finds that he lacks the words as she steps back. His eyes linger over her body-barely clad in lace-and he can't wait to touch her and to taste her again.

"I thought I'd ruined this."

"Hm?"

"I planed this whole thing," she tells him, "And then-"

"I'm sorry-"

"It's not _just_ your fault."

He grins. "I… think you could've ended it a lot sooner by showing up in that."

She giggles and her cheeks flush slightly. "Well, I don't know about that. I really think it's a matter of timing."

He nods-dumbly-as he looks down at her. He doubts that, really, considering the difficulty he's having thinking about anything besides her in that robe and the fact that he wants to ravish her, right here, on the spot. He barely remembers what he was thinking about before she came out from the dressing room, much less something as complicated as what he was feeling.

"Well, regardless, I was thinking that we could… um…" Her cheeks flush adorably, as she bites down on her lip and her eyes shyly meet his. "It's been more than month," she tells him as she takes a step back, and takes him by the hand, "And it's been much longer than that that we've been together, well, _properly_."

"Properly-"

She nods as her hand presses to his chest, gently pushing him back to the chair in front of the hearth. "I want to be with you again. I want… to feel you inside of me again, and I want us to be able to enjoy that part of marriage, fully." She grins, biting down her lip. "That is, of course, if you want that, too."

"I do," he tells her, thinking of all the late nights and early mornings he's fantasized about a moment like this.

"Good," she tells him, stepping in and forcing him to take a step back. "I'm so glad."

His lips brush over hers as she pushes forward again, and this time, he sits down in the chair, pulling her down into his lap. Her hands settle on either side of his faces, her fingers rubbing against his scruffy cheeks as her tongue parts his lips-and eagerly, he opens his mouth, letting her tongue slip against his.

He pulls her closer and kisses her back, enjoying the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath. She bites down on his bottom lip as she pulls back slightly, adjusting her body over his so that she's straddling his lap. His hand dips inside of the lace robe, sliding over her ass, his fingers kneading gently at her skin.

She smiles at him as she leans in and kisses him again. Her hand slips between their bodies, her fingers working over the buttons of his vest. He wriggles out of it, discarding it on the floor along with his coat, and she lets out a shaky breath as she pulls back and sits up a little straighter. She runs her fingers down the front of his shirt-back and forth and down again-before her fingers finally begin to work on the buttons of his shirt.

When it's opened, she pulls it apart and leans in, peppering a few kisses down his bare chest and then, she works her way back up to his lips.

He grins at her as he leans in to kiss him again. He likes letting her set the pace, letting her choose what's going to happen, while he sits back and just enjoys it.

For awhile, they kiss-her on his lap, his hands exploring beneath her robe-trading warm kisses.

Beneath her, he can feel himself hardening in his trousers-slowly, but surely-as his body reacts to her touches.

Pulling back, she grins a bit coyly-she notices it, too.

He draws in a breath as she slips off of his lap to kneel in front of him, and he swallows hard as a little anticipatory shiver runs through him as she works on the buttons at the front of his pants.

Robin lifts his hips as she pulls off his pants, freeing his cock-and that alone brings a bit of satisfying relief.

Regina smiles up at him as she licks her lips-and then she looks back down as she takes his cock in her hand.

Of all the intimate experiences they've shared, this act is the thing they've done the most-and she knows exactly what he likes and how to make him come.

Her hand slips up and down his shaft as her tongue and lips swirl and suck on his tip-something she does for several minutes, and something he always loves. If she did only this, he'd be coming in no time, but she wants it to last, so she lets her tongue slip down his cock, flattening out and working over him like a feather, and then she pulls herself back up before taking him completely in his mouth.

His head falls back and he offers an encouraging groan as she sucks him-it feels so damn good, each and every time, it feels absolutely incredible, never getting old.

Her hands cup his balls, her fingers massaging gently, and every now and then giving them a harder squeeze as her mouth works its magic on his cock-and truly, there's a part of him that wishes this could never end.

Slowly, she pulls herself back, grinning as his hard cock and then up at him as if praising herself for her handiwork. Her hand replaces her mouth, stroking him slowly.

"You're enjoying this."

"So much."

"I'm glad."

"Your mouth feels amazing."

She grins, proudly. "You're not the only one who's getting worked up, you know."

His eyes slip down her body as she stands, his eyes immediately going to the uncovered-by-lace spot between her legs-and he reaches for her. He pulls her down to his lap and slides his hand up her thigh-and she grins, watching as his hand slips up and between her lips. His hand cups her as his thumb slides through the wetness there, circling around her clit, as she leans in and kisses him.

They stay like that for a while-kissing and with his hand between her legs-and all the while his cock aches for attention.

This time, when she pulls back, she bites down on her lip as she reaches for the box beside the chair-the box that he'd almost entirely forgotten about.

He watches as her fingers flip it open and with her free hand, takes his cock, stroking it as she pulls out one of the wound up little caps.

"Do you… want to try it?" she asks, her voice shaky. "I know the tea alone should-"

"I'll try it," he's quick to say-he'd try anything for the chance to have sex with her again.

"Alright," she says, slowly unfolding it in a way that's somehow erotic. "So, it just… slips on, I suppose."

He nods, taking it from her.

It's made from a thin, cool material. It feels waxy, yet skin like and at the end, is hard little ring.

"Do you want me to… um, get up or… or help… or-"

Robin shifts his arm around her and shakes his head. "No. I think it just…" He positions the hard ring at the tip of his cock and pushes it down over the head. "There-"

Biting down on her lip, Regina watches. "Here," she murmurs, slipping down to the floor and sitting on her legs in front of him. "Let me help."

She licks her hand, then presses it to his cock, lubricating it and allowing the cap to slide down more easily. It sticks to his cock, forming around it. It's tight, but not uncomfortable and after a couple of minutes, he finds that he barely feels it.

"It's… alright?"

He nods. "It's fine."

"Good," she says, rising to her feet and taking him by the hand. "You can… feel through it?"

He draws in a breath as her finger slips down the length of it. "Yes."

She grins, almost shyly as she takes his hand, lacing her fingers down through his and leading him over to the bed. He follows, not taking his eyes off of her. When they reach the bed, she pushes his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving him completely naked before her.

Regina sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his hip as she pulls him to her-and he grins, rubbing his hand over her cheek and lifting her head. Gently, he rubs the back of his fingers against her cheek, grinning at her as she looks up at him with wide, waiting eyes.

"Lay back," he tells her.

She nods and complies.

Reaching out, he tugs at the ribbon holding the top of the robe closed and when it's looser, while it doesn't free her breasts completely, the sides become visible-looking so round and soft, and squeezable behind the loose layer of lace.

Drawing in a breath, he tears his eyes away from them and lets them linger down her body as he crouches down in front of her. His hands run down over her thighs to her knees, and slowly he parts them, looking up her body and watching her writhe with anticipation of what she knows is about to come.

He loves watching her this way-comfortable and exposed, taking no guilt in enjoying what pleasures her.

Leaning in, he swipes his tongue over her, from her clit down and then back again. His lips close over her clit and he sucks on it, as his fingers stroke her-slowly and gently, careful not to enter her. Little moans escape her as she gets wetter and wetter.

He pulls his fingers away and releases her clit as her hips began to squirm. He slows down, taking his time as his tongue laps at her. She breathes out a long, deliberate and shaky breath as his tongue slips into her, curling and twisting and teasing.

When he momentarily looks up, he sees her fingers curled around the blanket-and he decides not to end it there and move on to what's next-after all, there's no reason she can't come more than once, and the slicker she is the more they'll both enjoy what's to come. So, he pulls back, dragging his tongue up the length of her, letting it twist and circle around her clit as his fingers dip inside of her. He goes slowly at first, making her hips wriggle as she tries to control the pace-and then, his fingers start to pump in and out of her. He's not rough, but he's not gentle, either-and given the way she moans and the way her fingers grip harder at the blanket, she likes it.

His fingers curl inside of her, then flatten out and withdraw, before pushing back in and curling up again, hitting on the spot that almost always make her come within a few minutes time. He hits on it harder and faster as his lips clamp down on her clit, sucking hard as his tongue wriggles against it-and then, as he wiggles his fingers back and forth inside of her, her hips begin to buck against his face. Her breathing becomes increasingly erratic and then in a burst, she's coming-gushing against his fingers.

He pulls back and licks her slowly, letting her orgasm take its course and smiling.

Usually, this is where they'd end it.

But Regina smiles as she tries to catch her breath, pulling herself onto her elbows.

"Come here," she says. "I want to kiss you."

He easily complies, crawling up onto the bed with her.

His body covers hers as he kisses her deeply and lets her taste herself as her arms come up around his and her fingers tangle in his hair.

Then, when her legs come up and wrap around his hips, he pulls back and looks at her. He grins and licks his lips, sitting up and pulling himself back slightly, gazing down and appreciating the way the lace robe frames her body.

"I want you on top," he tells her.

She grins and draws in a breath, nodding.

"And leave the robe on."

Her brow arches and she looks at him, giggling softly as they adjust themselves on the bed.

Robin lays back against the pillows. He reaches for her, and she comes along easily, kneeling over him as her hands fall to his shoulders.

He steadies her with a hand to her hip, and with his other hand, he adjusts his cock.

Regina bites down on her lip as she looks down, and then slowly, she begins to lower herself onto him. She goes slowly, needing a moment to adjust to him, and he takes a moment to savor the eroticism of his cock disappearing inside of her.

When he's in, she looks up at him and smiles, blushing slightly as she holds him there. Her hands slip to his chest and he sits up a little straighter, wrapping his arms around her, letting his hands dip beneath the lace to eventually settle at her hips.

"Is it okay?" he asks, looking up at her.

She nods, and grins, and then begins to move her hips. Slowly she rocks against him, working up her pace until she's riding him. He slides in and out of her, and it's almost mesmerizing to watch-mesmerizing and incredibly erotic, watching the way he fills her, the way he stretches her and the way she slides against him with ease.

Leaning in, she kisses him, and it changes their angle, making her tighter and squeezing his cock with each move she makes. His tongue slides into her mouth and one hand squeezes at her ass while the other roams, gripping at and sliding against her sleek skin until it eventually finds her breast.

His hand covers it and his thumb rubs at her nipple-and for a moment, he thinks he could easily stay this way forever.

And then, she pulls back and breaks the kiss. Her skin is flushed and her eyes are filled with lust.

"Fuck me," she murmurs in a low voice as she sits up. "Please."

And suddenly, he finds himself no longer eager to stay complacently as they are.

He rolls them over, her legs wrapping around him as they shift to the other side of the bed-and she laughs at the quickness of his movements.

He grins down at her and sits up a bit straighter, looking down at her and once more, taking a moment to appreciate the way the lace frames her figure. This time, though, her breasts are free and the ribbon lays against her stomach-and somehow her neck looks longer between the lace over her shoulders and the crown of hair piled at the top of her head.

Leaning in, he kisses her jaw and down her neck, teasing her as she wiggles beneath him-this isn't what she wants, but he wants her to ask again.

He wants to hear the words as she asks to be fucked.

His lips slide against her clavicle and his arm slides between her body and the robe, his fingers ghosting down her ribcage and making her giggle.

His lips glide up her throat and over her jaw, pecking her cheek as his nose brushes against hers. He licks her bottom lip and when her lips open and she tries to catch his, he pulls them away, kissing his way down her jaw and over her clavicle. He pulls back further, her legs fall open on either side of him, falling away from his body as his tongue swirls around her nipple-and when she moans, she smiles and reaches for her other breast, kneading it roughly in her hand.

"Robin," she murmurs as her legs come up and tighten around his waist. "Please. I- I want-"

"What? What do you want?"

Her eyes are wide. "I want to feel you again."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Please."

His lips peck at her chin before he leans in and kisses back down her throat.

"Robin. Fuck me. I want-"

He doesn't wait for her to finish.

He slips into her, easily sliding in fully and groans as his cock disappears-then, he looks up at her, and watches her eyes closed and smile stretched over her lips.

He thrusts in and out of her, slowly at first, but quickly increasing the pace. He groans-and when he looks down at her, it's obvious that she's enjoying it as much as he.

He fucks her fast for a few minutes, then slows down, trying to make it last as long as possible-and for awhile, it works.

"That feels so good," she tells him, as his thrusts slow and he reaches for her clit, rubbing it as he fucks her slowly. "So good-"

He grins and his pace speeds up, grinning as he feels her tightening around him.

He's close too, but he thinks he can last through her orgasm-and as she begins to thrash beneath him, he feels a thrill of victory run through him. He holds his pace until she's done, his balls aching for release, and then as he slows and her breathing becomes less erratic, he buries himself inside of her and lets himself come.

She smiles as she rubs his thigh, moaning softly as he continues to thrust, slowing down with each movement until he can't do it any longer. He rolls off of her and collapses at her side, and almost instantly, she rolls onto her side, turns his head toward her and kisses him-softly and gently as he comes down from his high.

"That was _so_ worth the wait," he tells her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah-"

"It wasn't… different with-"

"Different, yes," he says, looking down at his softening cock as it lays against his thigh. "But not bad."

She grins. "You're not…just saying that."

Reaching to the nightstand, he pulls out a handkerchief and removes the cap from his cock, chuckling softly as he looks over at her. "There are some things a man can't fake."

She giggles and kisses him, and he drops the handkerchief to the floor, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"In fact," he says, as he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. "I think it's better than its been in the past."

Her brows arch. "Really?"

"Well, you wanted to do this, you were ready to and… we were able to let go completely, no stopping." He grins and strokes her cheek. "And as far as I know, this time your decision to go to bed with me wasn't influenced by too much wine or whiskey or-"

"No, no alcohol involved."

"Good, then no regrets."

"None," she tells him as she leans in and pecks his lips. "Not a single one."

They lay together for awhile, then get out of bed and clean themselves up.

Regina puts on a favorite soft, woolen night dress and hangs up the lace robe, while Robin puts on new pajamas. Her brows arch at the new button down shirt and pants set, and he grins excitedly while stuffing his hand into the pants pockets offering the simple explanation of _Granny had Ruby make them for me._

Robin grabs the extra thick, down comforter from the shelf while Regina changes the top layer of the bedding. She hands them off to Robin and he dumps them into the hamper, grinning when he returns to find her already in bed.

He slips in beside her and she slides close, resting her head on his chest.

He holds her, feeling relaxed, as they chat lightly about nothing in particular, and it's somewhere around then that he remembers his conversation with John and his trip to his mother's cottage.

"Have you ever been to Devonshire?"

"No," Regina says, turning her head to look at him. "Why?"

"We used to go-my father and I-when I was a boy."

"We didn't travel or go on visits," Regina explains. "My mother wasn't exactly popular in many social circles."

"Shocking-"

"Right? So shocking."

She laughs and he smiles.

"Well, my mother was friends with the Duchess-"

"The Duchess of Devonshire?" Regina asks. "I know that title. I don't know why."

He grins gently. "She was involved in quite a scandal. She had a daughter who's about our age."

"Ah-"

"With a man who was not her husband."

Regina's brows arch. "How do you know this?"

"She and my mother exchanged letters."

"As friends would."

"Yes."

"And she told her about this?"

"She did."

"Oh-"

"She had to give her up," he explains. "To the baby's father's family."

"I can't imagine-"

"Nor can I," he says, nodding. "She got to see her, still."

"But not raise her."

"No-"

"I'm sure she didn't have much of a choice in it."

"He wanted to marry her," Robin says. "Her daughter's father-"

"But she couldn't do that?"

"No."

"She must've been miserable."

"I'm sure," he agrees. "She had other children."

"So it was complicated."

"Yes," he murmurs, nodding. "She was stuck in a loveless marriage, watching her child and love from afar with a husband whose mistress lived with them"

"That sounds terrible."

"I imagine that it was, at times." He pauses and looks down to her. "And I believe that's the double standard you spoke of this morning."

"Yes," she admits. "It is, exactly."

"The point to this is that everyone knew about all of this-"

"Of course they did, and I'm sure they did. That's the sort of thing that spreads like wildfire."

He holds her a little tighter. "She was a good person, she didn't deserve that."

"No one does, really. It's terrible to be on the receiving end of that."

"She came back from it though."

Regina looks up at him and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"She ignored it. She immersed herself in culture and society. She took up causes that were important to her, and kept showing up-"

"I can feel where this is going-"

He chuckles softly. "I wasn't trying to be coy."

"Is this about Mary Margaret's party? I'm not even sure I want to go anymore, not that I ever really did."

"Yes, the one you think you were only invited to because of some sort of obligatory guilt-"

"Well-"

"I think that's _your_ new start."

"Robin, I don't even know that I want to go. I've told you that."

"Why not?" he asks. "We have an invitation. We'll go and have a nice meal that isn't spent cutting up someone else's food or reminding anyone to chew with their mouth closed. We'll drink expensive champagne and dance—"

"You know, as it turns out, I very much enjoy dancing with you."

Her eyes roll, but she grins.

"And we'll prove to all of those people that you have no reason to hide away."

"Except-"

"You don't, Regina. Not really." He sighs and shakes his head as she looks up at him with wide eyes. "When the story about you and Jefferson came tumbling out that evening, I asked you if you regretted what you did."

"I remember-"

"And I remember that you said no. You said no because it meant Henry didn't go without food or shelter-"

"That's true. It doesn't mean that I'm proud of it."

"I understand."

"I have nothing to prove to-"

"But you do." Taking a breath, he smiles. "You can prove to them all that you've moved on, that you're not your mistakes, and eventually, people will see that." She looks down, but he lifts her chin. "There's a precedent for that, you know."

"Your mother's friend?"

"Yes, and I'm sure there were others."

"Robin-"

"I'm proud of you, Regina. I'm proud of our marriage and the life we're building together, the future we're building for our sons." He grins. "We've so much more to be proud of than we have to hide away from."

"I don't know-"

"Please don't let this _one_ -albeit terrible-encounter at a public house force you into hiding. Don't let Jefferson win this way."

Reigna bites down on her lip. "And suppose… none of the other women talk to me? Suppose no one wants to sit next to me-"

"I'll talk to you and sit next to you, and be right at your side, beaming proudly."

"You make it sound so easy."

"I'm sure it won't be," he admits. "But you've been through much harder than this."

She nods, but says nothing.

And then, she takes a breath and looks up at him, rolling onto her stomach and resting her chin on his chest.

"You won't leave me on my own?"

"Not for a second."

"And if I want to leave, we can?"

"The second you want to."

She pauses, biting down on her lip. "You promise."

"I promise."

Her nose scrunches. "You really want to go? You don't even like-"

"What I like is spending an evening away with you, and I'll admit, I won't mind rubbing our happy marriage in the faces of some people I don't much like."

Regina's eyes roll, but she laughs.

"I'm serious. I _like_ you. I like spending time with you. You're a friend as much as you are my wife, and while all the poor saps I've never much cared for are trying to ditch their wives for games of darts and drinks for an evening of escape, I'll be happily dancing with mine, and when it's time to go, they'll be miserable with their company, and I'll be happy as a clam."

She laughs again. "You're such a child sometimes."

"But you love me."

"I do," she says, nodding as she grins at him. "I love you a lot."

"So, you'll go?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Alright. I'll try it."

He pulls her closer and hugs her, kissing the top of her head-and he can't help but think that this is a much better way of helping her overcome her past-and the gossip that comes along with it-than what he chose to do the night before. And as he holds her, he can't help but be glad he didn't do any irreparable damage with his foolishness.


	32. Chapter 32

A smile draws onto Regina's lips as she slips back into bed beside Robin, her eyes catching the clock on the mantle and a little wave of relief washing over her at the realization that they still have more than an hour before anyone expects to see them up and about.

Her lips are swollen and her heart's still pounding, and when he reaches for her, she can't help the giggle that escapes her. He rolls on top of her and kisses her, his hand finding hers-and just as she finds her arm going up around his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss, he sits up, pulling her with him.

She laughs again as his arms form around her, holding her in his lap. "I must admit, _that_ was quite a lovely wake up."

"Well," she murmurs, grinning as she looks up at him. "I've got a lot of mornings to make up for."

"You've nothing to make up for, you know that." Regina shrugs, grinning as a smile edges over his lips. "That said, I will do nothing to stop you from trying, as unnecessary as it might be."

She's enjoyed the most recent shift in their relationship, the shift toward intimacy.

For so long, she'd been so afraid of it-afraid to let her herself enjoy it.

But over the last month or so, she's found herself more and more comfortable in her marriage-and with that comfort, the sound of her mother's voice, which had frequently invaded her thoughts since she was a child, was growing fainter and fainter with each day that passed. And with that, came such a sense of relief.

Of course, her mother's _actual_ presence was still a problem, and she considered herself lucky that she'd managed to miss Cora's last few visits to Sherwood. She was glad that Belle frequently made excuses for her and was vague when relaying her whereabouts-and even if Regina was merely on a walk with Robin or upstairs listening to the boys play a newly-learned piece of piano music, Belle insisted she was unavailable to meet. She imagined that her mother didn't take kindly to this, but Belle was both good at holding her ground and loyal to a fault.

She knew her luck would soon run out. Cora always managed to push in and get her way, somehow, but the reprieve had been nice. It gave Regina a little glimpse of what a comfortable life could truly be like, and that was a happy contrast to the chaos she knew her mother could still bring down upon her and her family.

Though, now, she was starting to wonder just how damaging Cora's wrath could be...

In the near-year that she and Robin had been married, they'd weathered so much. At the start, she was so guarded-life had taught her that she had to be. But Robin's patience broke down her walls and she found herself _wanting_ to love him, and then _actually_ loving him-and with those feelings came so much anxiety. She'd chided herself for allowing herself to get to a point where she could be hurt, and worse, a point where her son could be hurt. But every time she thought her world was going to come crashing down around her, the exact opposite happened.

And each time she and Robin weathered a storm she didn't expect them to survive, her mother's dominance weakened.

For a long time now, she's trusted Robin completely with her heart, and she knows that regardless of what happens, they'll be alright and he'll continue to love her without condition.

And knowing that is more than enough for her.

She doesn't need anything else.

She doesn't need status and position.

She doesn't need money or a title.

She doesn't need the respect of people she doesn't know.

She just needs him and their sons; they were her marker of success.

The rest didn't matter to her.

It took her awhile to get to a point where she could acknowledge that-acknowledge what did and didn't matter to her-and now that she had, it seemed silly to focus on anything else.

Especially when there were so many other things-better things-to give her attention to.

"About today," she murmurs as her hand slides against his chest. "Or, well, tonight-"

Robin grins at her, his brows arching up in a way that's both adorable and seductive. "What about tonight?"

"I was just thinking about it and-"

"Mm, I've been too busy thinking about _this morning._ "

She laughs and her lips part to attempt at elaboration, but Robin just laughs and falls back against the pillows, taking her down with him.

They both laugh as they go, and she rolls off of him, cuddling into his side. Her head rests on his chest, holding onto him and listening to his heart beating as he strokes his hand over her hip.

She really does enjoy _this_.

"You know," she begins. "We could have an encore performance tonight." Robin brightens and, again, she can't help but giggle. He looks so bright-eyed and excited, she actually thinks she might manage to convince him to change their plans. "It's nice out," she tells him. "Probably one of the last nice days of the year."

"Ah, the calm before the winter storm sets in."

"Exactly."

"How disappointed Roland and Henry will be to have to spend it inside with Ruby sticking them with pins."

Regina bites down on her lip. She'd forgotten about that.

"It's early enough that I could send a letter asking to reschedule."

"But isn't the point to get them some new winter things before winter?"

She frowns at his logic. "I suppose." Reaching out, he pushes two fingers into her hair, and tucks a loose strand behind her ear, letting his fingers linger at her jaw. "But winter isn't coming tomorrow."

"No," he agrees. "That's true."

"So, she could come tomorrow-"

"Unless she has plans-"

"But if she doesn't-"

Robin shakes his head. "No, it has to be today."

"Does it?" she asks, scrunching her nose. "We could get them dressed-"

"In clothes that don't fit them-"

"They fit… enough."

Robin laughs. "Alright, so after we dress them…"

"We could take them for a picnic in the woods."

"Henry would love a chance to ride his horse."

This time, it's her turn to frown. "I know."

"So a picnic-"

"We could… lay back and watch them play, have a nice, relaxing afternoon."

"That'd be cutting it awfully close. The Blanchards-"

Regina holds her breath as she cuts in. "Suppose we skip that?"

"You don't want to go?"

"I… just think there are other things I'd rather do."

"Like have a picnic in the woods with the boys."

"Exactly."

"And then what?"

She grins and shrugs. "Just… see where the day takes us." Robin nods, and for a moment, she thinks he might be considering. "Besides, I asked Ruby to come a few different days. Otherwise, the boys will be all squirmy and grumpy and-"

"And they make such lovely company when they're grumpy."

"We could have an early dinner and let them show off a bit-"

Robin's laugh cuts in. "You mean we can watch them trying to shove one another off the piano stool so they can be the _first_ to play a few cords of whatever piece Mal's last taught them?"

"We really should suggest a duet-"

"Their rivalry is fun," Robin says. "They make each other better."

"They do," Regina agrees, as a smile draws on her lips. "I'm glad they have each other."

"As am I."

"And… after we could… turn in early and…"

"I think I like where this is going."

Regina bites down on her lips. "So, you… want to stay in tonight?"

"No," he says, the back of his fingers rubbing over her cheek. "But I think you've put together an excellent plan for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she repeats, frowning. "But-"

"But I know what you're trying to do." Her eyes widen, and he smiles gently. "And I love you too much to let you do it."

"There's no reason-"

"There is, Regina," he cuts in as his arm tightens around her. "You know there is."

"But I don't care about-"

"You say you don't, but you do."

"Suppose I've grown to-"

"Regina," he cuts in as his eyes meet hers. "I spent a lot of years hiding away from the world, and I said it was what I wanted. I just wanted to focus on myself and my son, and-"

"But if that's what makes you happy-"

"But that's not all there is to life."

She frowns. "I don't care about those other things. I don't care about acceptance or-"

"You do," he tells her gently. "I know you do. You're just afraid of what'll happen if you don't get it." Her eyes fall away from his, but he tips up her chin and again smiles. "This isn't about _other people._ It's about _you._ "

"If it's about me, then should I-"

"If you didn't care, why didn't you go into town with me the other day?"

She bristles and looks away. "You were just going to the bank."

"And the day before that, you didn't want to come to check on-"

"Because I don't particularly care to spend an afternoon talking about grain and crop rotations."

He nods. "That may be so, but you always used to come."

"I wasn't in the mood to put on a smile and-"

"You were hiding."

"I wasn't. I just don't-"

"Zelena was having one of her meetings-temperance or a clothing drive or something she only pretends to care about for my father's benefit-and you chose to stay."

At that, she takes an opportunity to challenge him-after all, he was out and has no proof that she spent the day in the boys' sitting room, listening in on their German lesson and listening to Roland repeating, in very slow-spoken German, again and again, _Thank you, this pudding is very good,_ and watching as Henry sat frustrated and impatient as Mal made Roland repeat the word _dieser_ until Roland finally said it correctly.

"Mal squealed," he tells her before she can even protest. "You never made it down the stairs."

Sighing, she shifts uncomfortably. "There was no reason to."

"But there was also no reason not to."

Regina frowns. Deep down, she knows that Robin is right. She is hiding away from the world; and it's not the first time she'd done this. She did it when she ran away with Daniel, she did it when she refused to come home and allowed herself to do unthinkable things simply to not have to face her parents and the rest of the world, and then, when she was finally forced to, she locked herself away at Dragon Head and pretended the world stopped at the end of the estate's grounds.

The only difference was that this time, she wasn't miserable setting herself apart and she wasn't lonely.

"You don't even like people," she says, sighing as her eyes meet Robin's. "You-"

"I like people who like you." At that, her eyes roll and he chuckles softly. "Besides, it'll be nice to get away from Sherwood for a night. John overheard my father asking Zelena if she sang yesterday afternoon. It was followed by some commentary about a harp, and John said the butler was looking into that." He sighs as she bites down on her lip, thinking back to the harp lessons that Cora insisted she attend and how she always dragged Zelena along to them for company. "Regina, I don't think I can handle that."

"We could stuff our ears with cotton."

"Or, we could go somewhere and have a nice meal that isn't composed of whatever spices the cook could smuggle into the kitchen-"

Regina's eyes narrow. "Does your father _really_ examine the house budget that closely?"

"You wouldn't think it, but he does."

"Then why does he have a housekeeper and a butler?"

"My father would be even more miserable if not to have a whole staff of unnecessary people to boss around."

"It's really a shock that my mother and your father don't get on better."

"I know it," Robin sighs. "But just think-a nice meal, music that isn't the kind that'll make our ears bleed-"

"In fairness, Zelena isn't a bad harper."

Robin's face scrunches. "And her vocals? Because her regular voice is enough to grate on every last nerve that I have."

At that, she can't help but laugh. "Well, neither of us were talented in that regard. It drove my mother crazy."

"And something tells me Zelena does not have the personal awareness that you do."

"Probably not."

"See!"

"I see nothing."

He laughs. "So, a nice meal, good music, and some dancing." He grins and his blue eyes sparkle. "You know, I've been practicing."

Her head tips. "What?"

"The waltz you taught me."

"You were good then-"

"I'm better now, and I can't wait for the chance to show you how I've improved."

Regina's eyes narrow, and she thinks to tell him that they can practice waltzing in private. "Who have you been practicing with and how have I not noticed?"

His cheeks flush a bit. "John."

"Oh!" Her hand claps over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. "Poor John."

"Yes, so you better make all that pain worthwhile for him."

"Pain-"

"In addition to the embarrassment, his feet are much larger than yours, so I've managed to bruise nearly every one of his toes." Regina laughs out, and Robin chuckles as he reaches up and brushes his fingers over her cheeks. "Please go tonight," he says. "I swear we'll have a good time."

"And-"

"And if we don't," he adds, finishing her question before she can even push it out. "We'll go." Regina sighs and again, Robin brightens. "We had a nice time the last time we were there."

"That was ages ago and I am fairly certain we were both drunk."

"And we've only gotten better since then, and there will be champagne again. There's always champagne at these sorts of things."

A grin twists onto her lips. "I suppose that's true."

"So, you won't back out on me?"

For a moment, she hesitates-it's getting harder to deny him anything when he asks for it. "No," she murmurs. "I won't back out."

"Good," he says, leaning in and pecking her lips. "Now, if I am correct, we have forty-five minutes before we're expected at breakfast."

"You're not wro-"

She doesn't have the chance to finish. Instead, Robin rolls her over, pushing her back against the pillows as his lips find the crook of her neck and his fingers brush against her ribs, making her laugh until she can't manage a clear thought-and more importantly, forgets that she feels so anxious about the coming night.

"Ruby will be here by ten," Regina says, watching as Mal stacks the boys' half-empty tea cups on a tray. "So, would it be possible to push back their lessons? She's only planning to be here for a couple of hours."

"Of course," Mal says easily. "I wanted to do something fun with them anyway." A grin edges onto her lips. "But not _too_ fun that they don't take it seriously."

"What will they be studying today?" Robin asks, coming into the room from the nursery and looking between Regina and Mal. "I trust you, but I'm curious."

"I thought we'd have a little fun with mathematics."

Robin's nose scrunches and Regina giggles softly. "I regret to inform you that those two things-fun and mathematics-do not go together."

"I always liked mathematics," Regina says, shrugging. "Of course, I only got to practice when my father was able to bribe my governess."

"You weren't allowed to learn it?"

Mal shakes her head. "Girls never do much with it."

"But I liked it, so my father always tried to work it in."

"Ah-"

"And what would you learn in its place?"

Regina's eyes roll. "Posture."

Robin blinks. "Posture."

"Yes," Mal says, grinning at Robin's slack jaw. "Quite important to a girl's education."

"Important-"

Mal laughs. "Well, no man wants a woman who slouches." At that, Regina giggles and Robin's eyes narrow. "Or so I've been told. I never much cared about what interests men."

"Well, as a man, I can absolutely say I've never cared if a woman was slouching." Blinking, he looks between them, and again Regina giggles-he looks absolutely dumbfounded. "And it's certainly never factored into my attraction to one."

"Don't tell all the mothers of the world," Mal tells him, winking. "Who knows what might happen if young women had to learn things that were actually useful to them?"

"Should I ever have a daughter," he begins, scoffing as he shakes his head. "She'll get the same education as my sons."

It takes him a moment to look to Regina, and when their eyes meet, she looks away, feeling a slight pang of guilt stab at her core. While things have changed between her and Robin, they haven't quite changed that much, and she's still not sure future children will be a part of their story.

"I didn't say it as an absolute," he says, reaching for her hand.

"I know," she tells him, grinning softly. "I just-" She sighs. "I'm anxious about today, that's all. I'm… reading into everything." She shrugs as she looks between Robin and Mal, momentarily looking to Mal for help, but Mal doesn't pick up on it. "Like when Roland asked if we'd read more of the book I've been reading them tonight and I had to tell them we'd be out-"

"Roland isn't mad at you."

"No, but he and Henry exchanged a look, and momentarily-"

"Henry isn't mad at you, either."

She sighs. "I know, and they were fine a second later. I'm just… anxious."

"Tonight will be just fine," Robin assures her.

"You're going to Mary Margaret Blanchard's little party, right?"

She nods. "I'm not sure the occasion."

"Do people like Mary Margaret Blanchard need an occasion?" Mal asks. "It's a party. Go. Have fun."

Regina's eyes narrow. "I swear, sometimes it feels like the two of you conspire against me."

"No conspiring," Robin says.

"No, we just both want what's best for you… and often agree about what that is." Regina's eyes narrow again, but before she can challenge it, Mal changes the subject. "Well, anyway, I was thinking I'd take the boys out after Ruby's done with them, maybe to Dragon Head to see your father."

"Oh-"

"I'm sure all three boys would like that," Robin says, chuckling.

"They would," Regina agrees. "They always enjoy time with my father."

"Henry should get to ride on his own," Robin says in his most adamant voice, nodding decisively, as if his word is final. "There won't be many more chances this season. The ground is firm and it's not too cold, and he's been _dying_ to ride on his own. He should get to do it, just this once." Regina bristles as her eyes shift to Mal. "Besides, your father would love to see Henry riding that horse, after all, that's why he bought him a horse."

Mal draws in a breath and nods. "I think he's ready."

"But-"

"We'll go slowly. I promise."

Regina holds her breath. "You really think he's ready? Dragon Head is so far. It's _miles_ away."

"I'll be there the whole time."

"I watched him saddle up the horse and mount him yesterday morning," Robin says. "He rode him around the barn in circles. He's got a good handle on it. He's got good command."

"It's in his blood," Mal adds-and at that, in spite of herself, Regina has to grin. "The first sign of wobbliness and we'll walk the horses the rest of the way."

"Roland will be jealous," Regina says, weakly, not having another excuse to be against the idea.

"I am completely sure that his jealousy will be tamped down the moment he gets to Dragon Head and sees those kittens," Robin says. "Besides, Henry's older. Roland will have to understand that there are just some things that Henry gets to do that he can't yet do."

"Like riding his own horse."

Regina sighs. "And what does this have to do with mathematics?"

"Everything," Mal says, her shoulders squaring. "Counting, distance, multiplying, adding-there are all sorts of mathematical things that can come up."

Robin blinks. "For me mathematics was always pages upon pages of problems and getting my knuckles slapped whenever I made a mistake."

"Better than getting your knuckles slapped for taking too deep of a breath."

Robin's eyes narrow and he looks from Mal to Regina who clarifies, "Posture. Too deep of a breath and it was unladylike."

"Damn," Robin breathes out. "Well since we've established numbers aren't my strong suit," he says, looking to Regina. "I've got a few business matters to attend to and was wondering if you'd like to assist me?"

Her stomach flops and she hesitates. "Oh, I-"

"We'd just be in my study for an hour or so."

With that bit of information, she relaxes-and then, she frowns. "I can't," she murmurs. "If we're actually going to go to Mary Margaret Blanchard's party, I'm going to have to figure out what I'm wearing-a dress, jewelry, shoes, everything."

"I thought that was all decided."

"No," she sighs. "Up until this morning, I was certain I could wiggle out of it."

"But you had Ruby make a-" He stops, his eyes widening and a little grin edging onto his lips. "Oh."

"Yes-"

"You had her make that delicious robe instead."

Regina feels her cheeks warm almost instantly, her eyes widening as they fall to her lap, hoping that Mal isn't paying attention to the turn the conversation's taken-and no sooner than she hopes for it, a laugh bubbles out of Mal.

"Oh, come on, Regina. You _can't_ be embarrassed by that."

Slowly, her eyes turn to Mal. "And yet-"

"I dressed you that night, for god's sake."

Robin chuckles as he rises up from his chair, enjoying her discomfort. "Well, on that account, I won't complain and I'll leave you to figure things out."

"Thank you for understanding," Regina mutters, looking to him and rolling her eyes and a grin spreads across his lips. "I'm sure I'll find something."

"And if not, there's always that wonderful robe."

Mal giggles and Regina bristles. "I hate you."

"You don't," Robin says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "And I'm sure whatever you decide on will be absolutely ravishing."

Regina sighs and again, Mal giggles-and as Robin goes, Mal's giggle turns into an all out laugh.

After more than an hour, Regina and Belle have yet to settle on a dress-and though she knows that no one is really going to care about her dress as long as it's a gown, making a good impression, especially under bad circumstances, is something that's been all but beaten into her.

They've narrowed it down to three and for each, they've set aside gloves and jewelry and shoes. There's a white dress with black details and long black gloves that came up over her elbows. With it, she could wear her teardrop pearl pendant on a black satin ribbon and she could put a pearl and onyx comb in her hair. There was also a blue dress with gold beads sewn into the white embroidered ribbon that rested beneath the bust. She had a pair a gorgeous matching gloves in white with blue and gold beads sewn at the ends. One felt too dark and other too heavy, and the other options she had didn't quite feel right for the season.

When she couldn't decide between those two, Belle pulled out a cream colored taffeta dress with a creamy lace overlay that had delicate burgundy flowers embroidered on the skirt. The flowers cascaded downward, collecting at the bottom, their little pearl centers ensuring that the overlay stayed down and didn't bunch up. She quickly pulled out a pair of silk burgundy flats and two burgundy ribbons-one that could hold the teardrop pearl pendant around her neck and one that would go under her bust and tie in the back-and though it was a pretty combination, it seemed too springy, even with a pair of elbow-length gloves.

"I just don't know," Regina sighs. "If I knew the occasion…"

"Isn't the occasion Ms. Blanchard's first… well, occasion."

"I suppose," Regina says, offering a disinterested shrug as she looks between the three dresses laid out for her on the bed. "I've just never liked this sort of thing. It's so unnecessary. All the pageantry and pleasant talk about nothing, it's just so excessive."

"Well, I think it sounds like fun, and I think you should go with the burgundy flowered one."

"Really?" Regina's nose scrunches-that was the one she was ready to eliminate. "Why that one?"

Belle shrugs. "I've just always liked it on you."

"Oh."

"It's light, too," Belle says. "And I would assume those ballrooms get hot."

"They can…"

"So, even if it is a little springy-"

"It'd be comfortable," Regina says, reconsidering. "I was leaning toward the black and white one."

Belle nods, biting down on her lip and hesitating. "Well… that one's pretty, too."

"You don't like it."

"It's not that."

"It's just… dark."

"Serious," Belle says. "It's a serious dress."

"And I don't want to look serious?"

"For a party?" Belle asks. "I don't know Mary Margaret Blanchard, but Ruby says all of the girls who've been coming into the shop have been looking for whimsical things."

"Whimsical-"

"Yes."

"So, not serious."

"The opposite."

Regina sighs. "I've always thought black was my color."

"To be perfectly honest," Belle says, looking back to the dresses. "Blue is my favorite color on you."

"So, maybe the blue one would be-"

"Not for this."

Groaning, Regina lets her head fall back. This shouldn't be such a difficult task. It's just a dress to wear to a party. But at the same time, it's not just a dress-it's about the impression the dress leaves. She doesn't want to appear to be trying too hard or too fancy or too underdressed-she wants to fit in, to blend. There's already enough the other guests will have to say at her-all the scandal and gossip-she doesn't want to give them any more, regardless of how trivial it might be.

"Take a break," Belle says. "Come back to it."

Looking to her, Regina nods. "Maybe that'll help."

"Maybe you'll find yourself thinking of one, a cream colored one with some nice flowers, maybe?"

"You really want me to wear that dress."

"I want you to wear a dress that'll be comfortable, and I think that one's your best bet."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Maybe a break would be good. Robin's doing… something, and he wanted my help."

"Go, then. The dresses will be right here waiting for you."

Regina nods, looking from Belle to the dresses and back again. "It's not like I'm being very productive-"

"That's true," Belle says, chuckling softly. "We haven't made any progress in… well… it's been almost an hour and a half since we selected these three."

"Well, it's better than the five we started with."

"True."

"Alright," Regina says, drawing in a breath. "I'll go and check in on Robin, and come back in a half an hour or so."

"And I'll start getting your bath together."

"Thank you," Regina says, waiting for Belle to disappear into the dressing room before drawing in a long breath that she slowly releases as she looks back to the dresses, fully aware that her indecisiveness has nothing to do with dresses or gloves or jewelry.

She takes another look at the dresses then turns out of the room, heading down the hall toward Robin's study. It's a long walk, and as she passes by a window, she can see Mal waiting with the boys at the front of the estate as the carriage they sent for Ruby draws away. She smiles as the boys wave and she's glad that they haven't yet left for Dragon Head. She lingers for a moment, watching as Ruby's carriage disappears at the gates and Mal gently turns the boys back inside. It occurs to her to turn around so that she can greet them all on the stairs, but she keeps going instead, making her way down the impossibly long corridor that leads to Robin's study.

As she walks, she can hear Henry talking-complaining, actually-and though she can't quite make out her son's words, she catches a pronounced _terrible_ that's followed by emphatic agreement from Roland. Laughing quietly to herself, she pictures her sons standing up on stools frowning as they hold up their arms for Ruby to measure, and she's glad that Mal has a fun afternoon planned for them to make up for it.

Turning into the study, she laughs, ready to share the all-too-brief story with Robin, but when she enters his study, she finds it empty.

Frowning, she stands there for a moment and considers that he might be downstairs in the library where Richard does his business-and for a brief moment, she wonders if she wasn't right to avoid this altogether. But then she considers the alternative, standing in front of a series of dresses with her stomach in knots getting ready to attend a party she's sure will be a complete disaster-and Robin always manages to calm her down.

When she reaches the library, she finds the door ajar and a soft smile edges onto her lips.

But when she goes to push in, the person seated at the large mahogany desk isn't Robin and it isn't Richard-instead, it's Zelena.

And she looks incredibly interested in whatever it is that she's doing.

Regina holds her breath, careful not to make a sound as she takes a half step forward and cranes her neck to see from a better angle. Her brow furrows as she watches, not quite sure what it is that she's seeing. Zelena's eyes are intently focused on one of the large, leather bound ledgers on the desk. She's not entirely sure what's in it, but Zelena looks awfully interested and it's awfully like the one Robin keeps upstairs in his study, where they track their finances.

Every now and then Zelena makes a little noise-a gasp or a tsk-and shakes her head, and then her finger stops on the page and her brows arch up, and a hint of a smile edges onto her lips. Regina takes a step back as Zelena reaches for the paper pad on her desk, reaching for the ink pen and dabbing the tip with a generous amount of ink before scribbling something onto the paper.

And then, a manic laugh escapes her.

Regina steps out of the doorway, her heart racing as Zelena laughs-and for a brief and fleeting moment, she can't help but think how familiar that laugh is.

But it's not familiar because it belongs to Zelena. It's familiar because it sounds like Cora.

She ducks out of the way when she hears the chair scratching against the floor as Zelela rises, practically running toward the gap between the stairs and the servants' hallway in an effort to not be seen, and from her hiding spot, she watches as Zelena smoothes her hands over her skirt and starts up the stairs.

She waits until her footsteps fade, and then, with her heart pounding, she slips into her father-in-law's study.

It occurs to her that if Richard walked in at this very moment, he'd catch her in quite a compromising position; yet, she doesn't care enough about that to stop.

Staring down at the desk, Regina bites down on her lip, looking at the now-closed ledger. She opens the cover and stares down at the columns of numbers, all in neatly written penmanship. She turns a couple of the pages, noting each other columns and what they seem to account for, and she notices which columns have a steady number each time and which ones vary-and she notices that it'd be completely impossible to tell what exactly Zelena was so interested in.

Looking around the desk, her eyes fall to the paper pad and she remembers a trick she learned as a child. She opens the drawer and rummages through it until she finds a lead pencil, and she holds her breath as she tears off the first page of the pad. She keeps a watchful eye on the door as she rubs the lead against the page, grimacing at the scratchy sound it makes-and then, as she looks back down at the paper, she grins at the numbers Zelena unknowingly etched onto the page.

One jumps out at her immediately-it's Robin's monthly allowance from the estate, and the other, she discovers as she thumbs through the ledger, is the amount that Richard paid to the watchmen the night Robin got into a scuffle with Jefferson. The last number, though, she can't quite figure out-and the longer she stays in the study, the more nervous she gets.

Her stomach is in knots and she finds herself looking up at the door more and more frequently, and when she hears the voice of a hallboy, making his way up the second floor, she practically jumps out of her skin-and that's when she decides she's tempted luck enough for one day.

She closes the ledger and returns the pencil, then scurries out of the study, stuffing the paper into her pocket as she heads to the stairs. She holds her breath the whole way up, and she doesn't release it until she reaches her bedchamber-then, once she's inside, she reaches for the paper, exhaling as she looks down at it, wondering why Zelena cares about any of these things.

"Perfect timing," Belle calls out from the dressing room. "I've just got your bath together."

Regina nods, drawing in a breath. "Alright. I'll be right there," she calls out as she hurries across the room, stuffing the paper into her jewelry box and locking the little drawer.

Her thoughts continue to swirl as she joins Belle in the dressing room, and as Belle undresses her, she makes a mental note to mention this to Robin, hoping he can shed some light on it on the significance of third number.

Standing in front of a long, full-length mirror, Regina watches as Belle dresses her in her undergarments. She frowns, hating all of the layers she necessarily has to wear whenever she gets dressed up. On a normal day, she forgoes most of it, choosing a soft chemise and maybe, depending on her dress for the day, a pair of stiffened cotton stays. If it was chilly or they were expecting guests, she'd add a petticoat simply for the warmth and to cut down on the likelihood that someone might notice the shape of her legs beneath her skirt.

But tonight, it was two chemises-one sewn and the regular one over it. Belle had already laced her into a short, whale bone corset that squeezed at her sides to accentuate her waist and push up her breasts, and though she wasn't particularly large-chested, she felt like she was suffocating in cleavage. She already had on two petticoats-one made of a flouncy fabric that would add a little shape to her skirt and another woollen one that would keep her warm-probably, too warm, she thought-and now, Belle was rooting through her wardrobe looking for a third and silkier petticoat to stuff her into that would keep her skirt smooth.

"I… think we could go with just two. Lose the wool," Regina says, examining herself. "Ballrooms can get so hot when they're packed with people."

Belle looks up and nods. "Alright," she murmurs. "I can-"

"No, no. Keep looking. I can take it off." Regina reaches around herself, sliding her hand between the layers of undergarments until her fingers find the woollen petticoat. "Besides that, depending on the dress I end up in, I don't want the skirt to be too full."

"I like the slimmer skirts that are fashionable now."

"I do too," Regina admits. "They're more comfortable than the dresses my mother used to wear." She holds her breath as her fingers work on the petticoat buttons. "They can be tricky though."

Belle giggles. "Some dresses can be quite scandalous, and unintentionally so."

"That's why I like darker colors." She looks to Belle as she releases the petticoat and lets it pool at her feet. "I really don't need people gossiping about being able to see my thighs."

"I still think the cream and burgundy is your best bet."

Regina bites down on her lip. "But it's so _light."_

"Found it!" Belle exclaims, brandishing a silk petticoat. "I think it'll work with this. Feel it."

Regina brushes her fingers against the garment-it's thicker than her other petticoats, and she hasn't worn it since her wedding day. "Well, leave it to my mother-"

"It's a bit stiff for silk-"

Regina's eyes roll. "My ,other was convinced that a tornado would blow through Sherwood and my dress would end up over my head, and all anyone would be talking about was how they'd seen… parts of me that they shouldn't."

Belle blinks. "I… would have thought a tornado in the middle of February would have been the story there."

Regina laughs and shakes her head. "No, it'd be all about how Cora Mills' whore of a daughter-"

"Oh, come on, don't-"

"I'm not speaking from my opinion, I'm speaking from my mother's. That's _exactly_ what she'd have said." Regina shrugs. "She did, in fact…"

Belle frowns, but before any of them can say anymore, there's a knock on the door and Mal calls out that the boys want to say goodbye before leaving for Dragon Head.

Regina grabs a robe and ties it tightly around herself, inviting them all in and dropping down to her knees in front of Henry and Roland.

"Mama! I get to ride Philippe to see Grandpapa!"

"I know! I heard!" Regina says, trying to match his excitement and hide her own nerves as she reaches for his hands. "How exciting!"

"Mal said Robin said I was good enough."

Regina smiles. "He says you've been practicing."

"I have been! I really have! I saddle him up all by myself, and I don't even need a stool to get on him anymore! I just put my foot in the stirrup and lift, and then swing my leg over the saddle and I'm on!" He grins proudly. "I haven't fallen in _weeks._ "

Regina laughs as her stomach lurches-she didn't even know that he'd fallen-and she looks to Mal, who shrugs. "He fell into hay. No scratches or bruises, so no reason to concern you."

"And I always got right back up!"

"I bet you did," Regina says, grinning as she looks back to him-as nervous as she is, she is proud of him. "And you know how to control the reins?"

"Yup," Henry says, nodding seriously. "Two hands, always."

"And to slow him-"

"I tug once."

"And you say…?"

"Whoa." Henry is beaming-and in that moment, he reminds her so much of Daniel when they were kids. "And to make him go faster, I just-"

"But you won't."

"Well, if-"

"You won't, Henry."

He sighs, too excited to finally get to ride on his own to be disappointed. "Alright."

Regina grins, looking between the boys. "So, when you get to Dragon Head, what are you going to do?"

Roland frowns. "Mal says I can ride in the wagon." His eyes slide to Henry. "Alone."

"You can take Igor," Henry says, his voice sincere. "I think he'd like to go in the wagon, too."

A half-hearted smile tugs up at one corner of Roland's mouth. "Thanks."

"You know," Regina murmurs as she looks to Roland. "You'll get to play with the kittens once you get there."

Roland lights up. "Yeah!"

"I bet they'll be glad to see you."

"Especially the little orange one," Roland tells her. "He's my favorite, and I think I'm his."

"Well, _of course,_ you are," Regina says, winking as she leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead. "And tomorrow morning, you can tell me all about it, alright?"

Roland nods, still grinning and likely still thinking of the kitten. "Alright."

Leaning over, she presses a kiss to Henry's cheek. "Be careful."

"I will," he sighs as Regina rises. "Promise."

"I'll see you both in the morning."

"For breakfast?" Roland asks, looking up at her. "Mal said we're having sausages!"

Regina's brow furrows as she looks to Mal, who shrugs her shoulders. "I had to keep him still for Ruby somehow, and apparently, bribing him with breakfast sausage works."

"I stood still on my own," Henry says, looking up at her. "But it was _not_ fun."

Regina laughs. "Well, you've each got two more fittings, then you'll be done for a long while… provided you stop growing like weeds!"

That makes Roland giggle, but Henry sighs. "Can't we just sew fabric on the ends of my sleeves like we used to? That was easier."

Regina frowns, remembering how she taught herself to sew by stitching pieces of her own clothing onto Henry's so that his breeches and shirts never had holes and were always long enough.

Again, Roland giggles. "That would look funny."

"It would-and it did," Regina says, looking between them. "Besides, you'll be glad for those new things when winter comes and your toes aren't freezing whenever you go out to play in the snow."

"Can we have a snowball fight!?" Roland asks, almost bouncing as Mal sighs.

"That's a conversation for another day," Mal tells him as her arm slides around his shoulders. "Now, we'll be going-"

"Have fun," Regina calls as they turn out of the room.

"You, too," Henry calls back.

"By the way, I like your dress!" Roland says, looking back at her just before the door closes.

"Maybe I should just wear this," Regina says, laughing as she turns to Belle. "At this point, it's as good an option as any of the others."

Belle grins and takes her hand, leading her back to the dressing room. "We'll figure it out after we get you into the last petticoat." Regina nods and lets Belle put the petticoat on her, sighing as she holds her breath-she'll never be used to taking half breaths and considering every move she makes. "There," Belle says, smoothing her hands over the back of the petticoat. "No lines-"

"Or legs-"

Belle laughs. "Now, the dress-"

"Yes, but which?" Regina asks, turning as she looks back to the row of other gowns hanging just beyond them, wondering if starting over might be the best option; after all, she likely overanalyzed the pros and cons of her original choices, and now, none of them seem suitable. "Maybe now that I'm properly dressed for a ball gown, I should try on-"

She stops as her eyes focus on Robin's side of the closet. "That's new."

"Hm?"

"That coat," she says, pointing the burgundy colored satin tailcoat. "I haven't seen that before. Usually, Robin wears blue or green or black-"

"And sometimes gray and cream-"

"Yes, but rarely ever any reds."

Belle bites down on her lip. "Ruby made it."

"What? When?" Regina asks, looking back at Belle. "I didn't know."

"I'm not sure, but he wanted it to be a surprise."

"A surprise-"

"Yes, he thought you'd like it." She grins and looks back to the coat-she does like it. "He… thought you two could match tonight."

Blinking, Regina looks to Belle. "But he didn't know I didn't get a new dress-"

"Apparently Ruby covered and showed him some fabric," Belle tells her, shrugging. "When he found out you didn't actually get a dress made, he had me ransack your closet to find something that was close in color." At that, Regina can't help but giggle. "Something about the image of a united front, something about that being important-"

"Ah-"

"So," Belle murmurs as she moves toward the coat and pulls it down from its hanger. "Will you wear the cream dress with the burgundy flowers?"

"Robin picked it?"

"Yes," Belle admits. "He asked me to convince you to wear it." She grins. "Apparently, it's one of his favorites on you." A slow smile tugs on to her lips and she feels herself nodding, suddenly feeling very differently about the dress. While it's a dress she's always liked, it didn't seem right for the season, yet now, it seems completely fitting. "So, I'll go and get it?"

Regina nods as Belle hangs up Robin's coat, and when she goes to retrieve the dress, Regina moves to the coat, stroking her fingers to the soft fabric, noting the cream colored buttons and embroidered details. On a hanger beside it, is a cream colored waistcoat and cravat to go beneath it, and on the next hanger is a pair of new-looking pantaloons. Set aside, she finds a bushed iron pocket watch, a pair of newly-polished black Hessian boots and a silky black top hat.

Belle returns with the dress and helps her into it.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror as Belle ties a burgundy ribbon beneath her bust and lets the ribbon's tails cascade down her backside.

Then, they go back into the bedroom to do her hair and put on her jewelry.

She sits down at her dressing table as Belle lays the curling rods on the hearth to heat them, and then, as the rods warm, Belle pins up her hair. A few strands hang down to be curled and Regina smiles gently at her reflection-for all the anxiety about what to wear and how she should look, already it's coming together better than she anticipated.

Belle powders her face and then used a brush to smooth and even it out. Regina holds her breath as Belle dusts her cheeks with a little rouge and paints a soft red lipstick to her lips, and she smiles faintly as Belle steps out of the way so that she can see her reflection. Her stomach flips and flops as she watches Belle through the mirror, watching as she carefully gets the curling rods, holding onto the wooden handles and twists Regina's hair between the rods-and Regina holds her breath, watching as little puffs of smoke rise up from it.

This process always makes her so nervous-and not without reason, as a girl a maid or two left the rods on for a moment too long, taking a long lock of hair with it when they removed the rods-and she reminds herself that Belle is quite skilled at this, and since Belle started doing her hair, there's never been a problem. Then, as Belle releases the first curl, Regina smiles, reminding herself of how much she always likes the end result.

After her hair is done, they choose her jewelry-pushing a ruby and pearl comb into her hair and stringing her teardrop pearl pendant onto a burgundy satin ribbon. At first, Belle pulls it tight around her neck, but Regina loosens it, letting it hang above her cleavage, laughing as she makes a joke of not cutting off her body's every mode for breathing.

Then, when she rises, she goes back to the dressing room. She slides her feet into a pair of silk, burgundy flats and grins at the way her toes poke out beneath the dress-the skirt is full enough that it hides her legs, but not so full she looks like a Christmas tree ornament. And as she stands in the mirror admiring Belle's handiwork, her eye catches Robin's coat, and her stomach flutters-and she thinks, just maybe, it's fluttering with excitement.

Regina sits on the bed, waiting for John to finish dressing him.

There's a part of her that will never be over how unfair it is that it takes him such little time to be dressed while it's a nearly all day production for her.

But her annoyance is fleeting, completely vanishing when he emerges from the dressing room and gives her a little spin.

"What do you think?" he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and puffing out his chest, grinning brightly to show off his dimples and clean-shaven face. "It's new and I am very clean."

"I like it," she tells him. "That's a good color on you."

He grins. "It's a bit… out of my comfort zone, but I think I like it, for the occasion."

"Whatever the occasion is," Regina giggles.

"And, if I haven't already said so, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight."

She grins, and thinks to remind him that they could look gorgeous and have a private dinner-that that could be much more fun than a night of drinking and dancing-but she doesn't. She already knows how he'd reply.

"I can't wait to show you off."

She takes a short breath and nods, trying not to bristle. "You know… there's a chance this will all backfire."

"Unlikely."

"I'm just warning you for the reality of-"

"Regina, I am arriving with the prettiest girl at the party," Robin says simply, as if it's proven fact. "Then, I get to spend the entire night in her company, and I just can't get over how lucky I am."

She grins. He's trying a bit too hard-and she appreciates that.

"Everyone else is arriving with someone they can't wait to pawn off for the night-"

"You don't know that."

"It's incredibly likely."

"Again, you don't know that."

"But I've seen the guest list, and I happen to know that several of the couples in attendance are poorly suited and unhappily married."

Her lips part to respond to the second part of that, ready to remind him that he can't possibly know the private details of another couple's marriage, but before she can push out the words, the first half of that statement catches her attention. "You've seen the guest list?"

"My father asked for it."

"Oh-"

"Apparently, Zelena was quite put off by not getting an invitation." She nods, thinking back to Zelena in Richard's library, wondering if that's why she was originally snooping. "As it turns out, Mary Margaret was in control of the list and didn't invite any of her father's stuffy old friends."

"So your father didn't get an invite-"

"And, by extension, neither did Zelena."

"I see."

"So, I can tell you we are quite different from our peers," Robin says. "When Emily and Graham married, they'd only known each other for a month-"

"That's longer than we knew each other."

"Yes, but we were the exception when it comes to arranged marriages."

"I suppose that's true."

"And I happen to know that Graham finds her insufferable. Apparently, she never smiles."

Regina's eyes narrow. "And you know this because-"

"He told me once when we played billiards," Robin says. "You remember me telling you about that night… the first time my fist and Jefferson's mouth came into contact."

Regina's eyes roll, but she grins. "I remember."

"Most of the men who will be there tonight were there that night, and most of them kept telling me how lucky I was to be a widower, free to have whatever dalliances I liked without guilt or-"

"Ouch."

"Yes," Robin sighs. "The night was quite unpleasant for a lot of reasons."

Regina frowns. "I can't imagine anyone thinking you were lucky to lose a spouse."

"Yet another reason you're right about me, I don't like people."

At that, she chuckles softly-and again, she thinks that this is the perfect opportunity to suggest not going, but again she chooses not to, knowing how the conversation will end. "Understandably."

"But regardless of the company we'll be keeping tonight, I know that you and I are going to have a fantastic time."

"I don't know that _fantastic_ is the word for it."

"I think it will be," Robin says, his blue eyes practically sparkling. "And if it's not, we'll go." She nods, biting down on her lip and wondering how soon she's allowed to bow out, how soon would be reasonable. "We should go," he says, interrupting her thoughts. "It's a long ride."

"I know," she murmurs, remembering how nervous she'd been the last time they'd gone to the Blanchard's estate and how her stomach had been in knots the whole way. Then, the journey there seemed endless. "I've already packed up the carriage with some things to keep us occupied and pass the time."

She nods, not sure she wants the time to pass quickly. "And how do you think we'll pass the time?"

"I found some nursery games-"

"Nursery games," she laughs. "You… asked Henry and Roland's advice on this?"

"Well, I didn't quite ask, otherwise, we'd be putting on a puppet show or something."

Again, she laughs, feigning shock. "You _stole_ games from your own children?"

A smirk edges onto his lips. "My love, there is a _very_ fine line between stealing and borrowing." Then, something flashes in his eyes. "I've _borrowed_ the games," he says, reaching into the inner coat pocket and pulling out a flask. "I've _stolen_ my father's good Spanish rum."

Regina laughs and reaches for the flask, unscrewing the cap and smelling it-and then, she takes the first sip as Robin leans in and kisses her cheek, telling her there's a second flask in his other pocket, a bit of liquid courage for her and protection against boredom for him.

Thanks to the rum and a few games, the ride to the Blanchards passes, and by the time they arrive, Regina's feeling significantly less anxious than she felt when they left Sherwood.

She's tipsy, but not drunk and as soon as they get out of their carriage, Robin holds on tightly to her hand, only letting it go when a footman takes Robin's coat and her capelet. He checks in on her as soon as the footman directs them to the drawing room and she smiles and nods, telling him she's alright.

She takes a breath as they walk toward the drawing room. As they near, she can hear voices chattering and she sees another footman walking around with a tray of drinks that have limes and mint leaves floating in them. She smiles a bit awkwardly as they near the opened door, noticing the party has a theme. The room is decorated with pinks, reds and oranges and a big pineapple sits as a centerpiece on the mantle.

"The Blanchard's recently purchased a sugar plantation in Cuba," Robin whispers. "It seems Mary Margaret's quite taken with the idea of it."

Regina nods. "My grandparents own one. From what I understand, it's done quite well."

"Have you been?"

"My mother would never allow-"

"Oh! Oh, my goodness! You two came!"

Regina nods as Robin murmurs a soft, _Of course we did_ , and Mary Margaret beams.

She's wearing a white dress with a pink lace overlay over the skirt and there's a pink rose tucked in her hair. Her cheeks are rosy with warmth and her eyes are wide, and her smile is far too bright to be fake.

"Tell me," she says. "How was the ride over? I haven't been to Sherwood since I was a little girl, but from what I remember, the ride over was dreadfully long."

"Yes," Regina says, her jaw tense with discomfort. "It is a long way."

"Will be staying then?" Mary Margaret asks brightly, looking between them. "We've plenty of rooms, and if you haven't bought a ladies maid or a valet, we've plenty ready to step in." Regina's lips part to reply, but Mary Margaret continues. "And the brunch we're serving is worth staying for, I promise!

Regina blinks. She can feel Robin's eyes shifting to her. "Um, no… no, we can't stay overnight," she says, her brows arching at Mary Margaret's immediate frown. "I promised our boys we'd be back for breakfast tomorrow."

At that, Mary Margaret brightens. "Oh, yes. I always forget that you two have children. You're both so young!" Regina shifts uncomfortably. "They're close in age, aren't they?"

"About a year and a half apart."

"And they're best friends?"

Regina nods. "They're very close."

"Almost instantly so," Robin adds. "I think they were meant to be brothers."

"That's so wonderful for them," Mary Margaret says. "I was always so lonely as a child, with no one to play with. I would've loved to have a sister around my age." Again, Regina goes to reply, but Mary Margaret continues. "My father remarried when I was ten and I'd have done almost anything to have gotten a sister out of the arrangement."

"Oh, I didn't realize your father-"

"I was a handful," Mary Margaret laughs. "So marrying again was important to him."

"Ah," Robin murmurs-and though he says no more, just by his expression, Regina can tell that he's biting his tongue.

"Oh my," Mary Margaret exclaims. "You've only been here a handful of minutes, and here I am, talking your ear off! You haven't even gotten a drink!" She waves to a footman who scurries across the room, and when he reaches her, she takes two drinks from the tray. "These are my _favorites_!"

"What… is it?" Regina asks, looking down a the drink she's given.

"Oh, a bit of rum with lime and mint-tasty and refreshing!" Mary Margaret tells her. "I just fell in love with it when I visited by aunt's plantation in Cuba."

"Oh, tropical-"

"Preciscely!" she replies, again beaming as both Robin and Regina take a sip-and though she braces herself to hate whatever concoction she's been served, she finds it exactly as Mary Margaret described it. But before either of them can say they enjoy it-or anything else-Mary Margaret speaks again. "Oh, oh, look at me. You've barely made it into the room!"

"Oh, that fi-"

"Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes," she says, looking over Regina's shoulder to a woman whose just arrived. "If you'll excuse me-"

"Good thing we already started with rum, otherwise our stomachs might sour," Robin whispers, sipping the drink as Mary Margaret moves onto the next arrivals.

Puzzled Regina turns to him, giggling over the top of her drink as she watches Mary Margaret greet a petite redheaded woman whose hair is wound into a braid. "I know I shouldn't complain-"

"She's… a lot," Robin deadpans. "But she's nice."

"She is."

"And that counts for something in my book."

Regina grins and nods as they move into the room, and as she looks around, she sees only a handful of people that she knows-and that's a comfort. Again, her shoulders relax as she sips the drink. Robin launches into a lengthy commentary of not understanding the trend of using perfectly good and sweet fruit like pineapples as wasteful party displays, and she only half listens-though she nods empathetically-as she realizes that it's possible that just because _she_ doesn't know anyone, it doesn't mean _they_ don't know her.

She tenses up a little and bristles as she looks around the room, but no one seems to be paying her any attention-certainly not gawking or whispering. Instead, they're all involved in their own

"Do you see that woman over there?" Robin asks, snapping her back into the conversation. "The one with the blonde braided bun?"

"Yes," she murmurs, looking to him. "Why?"

"That's Elsa," he says. "Anna, her sister, just arrived."

"Oh-"

"She's going to be a duchess in her own right-"

"Oh, my-"

"Her husband, Hans, was under the impression that her wealth would transfer to him-"

"But it doesn't?"

"No. She's Swedish. She was only living here, staying with a sick aunt, when Hans met her."

"Hans sounds like might also be Swedish?"

"His mother was. His father was English."

"Oh-"

"They're miserable."

"That's sad."

Robin grins. "For Hans is it."

"And not for Elsa?"

A soft chuckle escapes him. "No, I, um… I think she and Emily _might_ be an item." Regina's eyes widen as she looks back to Elsa. "Graham once lamented about a month-long holiday the two of them took to visit Elsa's parents a few winters back."

"Well, that could be-"

"She wrote telling him that while it was cold, she was glad she had Emily to keep her warm."

"Oh, nevermind then," Regina says giggling softly. "Well, good for them."

"I enjoy it." Regina's brow arches as she looks back to Elsa. "Graham has… a set of mistresses himself who predate Elsa."

"Who knew you were such a gossip?"

Robin chuckles. "I really only have that one bit of gossip, and truly, I don't care-" He stops abruptly to consider it. "Well, I do care that Graham is a shitty husband-"

"Is Elsa much better?"

"Touché," he grins, sipping his drink. "But I would argue that she is. Though they're both carrying on their affairs, Elsa isn't a terrible human-"

"And Graham is?"

"He's the one who was jealous of my status as a widower."

"Oh, that's… awful," Regina murmurs, half frowning and half scowling.

Robin nods and takes another sip of his drink. "But the point is, everyone has their secrets, everyone has rumors and gossip that surrounds them."

Regina's eyes narrow, and she grins as Robin plucks out one of the sprigs of mint and chews on it. "That was awfully sly."

"I've really thought about this from all angles."

"How deliberate of you."

"I told you tonight's all a part of a plan, all a part of proving a point to you and the rest of them." Grinning, he shrugs and takes another sip of his drink. "This drink is bloody fantastic."

"It is good."

Before either of them can say anymore, the butler comes in and announces dinner. Mary Margaret corrals them all into the dining room and Regina can't help but laugh as Robin groans at more pineapples going to waste as centerpieces. They take their seats and, perhaps a bit ironically, she finds them seated across from Emily and Graham, and beside them are Elsa and Hans.

All through dinner, they make small talk-chatting about things that don't matter, like weather and the masquerade ball the Blanchards host every Christmas Eve. She finds Emily and Elsa to be pleasant to chat with. They both have an interest in riding-a topic she's both interested and knowledgeable in, and thanks to Henry, it's at the forefront of her mind-and they both heard wonderful things about the Harvest Ball. Regina grins as they talk about it-the decorations and music, the games for the children, the food and the drinks-and it surprises her that they'd have heard so much about it, given how far away they are from the Hunting Lodge.

Robin seems to enjoy needling at both Hans and Graham, getting them all riled up about whatever it is they're talking about, and just as promised, every now and then, Robin checks to make sure that she's still alright-and both of those things come as a relief to her. She enjoys that she doesn't need to rely on him to talk to her, that he isn't obligated to keep her company; and just as she enjoys that miniscule bit of independence, she appreciates that he's mindful of her level of comfort.

As expected the food is wonderful. The main course is a braised pork with crushed pineapple-which, of course, Robin has to comment on-and the desert is a soft lemon, cleansing sorbet. The white wine is smooth and fruity, and no matter how much she drinks, her glass never seems to empty.

When the meal is done, Mary Margaret announces that they can move onto the ballroom, and as they go, Elsa loops her arm through Regina's and tells her she'd like to introduce her to her sister, Anna and her fiancé, Chris.

"I'll go and grab us some punch, then," Robin says, winking as he lets go of her hand, letting Elsa lead her the rest of the way to the ballroom.

As they part, her stomach flutters as Graham invites Robin for a game of cards and she breathes a sigh of relief as he declines, offering her a wink as he turns toward the punch. She keeps an eye on him, noticing that Graham doesn't seem to be taking no for an answer, and she smiles when Robin gestures in her direction and offers her a wink before slipping away with their punch. He joins them just as Elsa reveals that Chris' mother is the housekeeper up at the lodge, explaining that's how she came to know so much about the Harvest Ball, and Regina brightens at the realization that Anna's Chris is Mrs. Potter's Chip.

And then, to her surprise, Robin suggests they all come up for the following year's event.

Eventually, Emily joins in, too, bringing Elsa a glass of punch and complaining of the heat, and Robin suggests they move out onto the terrace. He stands behind her, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her warm in the cool night air. She leans back into him, listening as Anna tells a story about how she and Chris met. He makes a joke at his own expense-about the barkeeper that fell for the sister of a would-be duchess, and she finds herself thinking of her own story with Daniel. Sensing her sadness, Robin press a kiss to her hair and holds onto her a little tighter, and she finds herself smiling, grateful for their story.

When the music picks up, Robin asks her to dance and they spend, what feels like hours, spinning around the ballroom, completely oblivious to the twenty or so other couples alongside them.

"You're having a good time," he notes.

"I am," she admits. "To my surprise, I am having a very nice time."

"I'm glad."

"And you've made some friends."

"Perhaps."

"They like you. They want to be friends. Don't you?"

Regina scrunches her nose. "I'm… not used to having friends, or people-women especially-who want to be my friend."

"Yet here we are." Her cheeks flush, and he laughs. "And I was right, you know."

"About?"

"I am dancing with the prettiest girl in the room. It's not just an assumption now. It's fact."

"There are a lot of pretty women here tonight."

"Yes," he nods. "I didn't say that there weren't."

She laughs as he twirls her around and pulls her back up against his chest. "You're such a shameless flirt."

"Maybe, but you enjoy it."

Her cheeks warm. "I do."

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Instead, they just dance. They keep spinning around the floor, dancing as the songs change again and again. She grins when she remembers that he's practiced this, and it shows. He hasn't stepped on her toes and he's confident in his steps.

She knows they danced the last time they attended a party at the Blanchards', but she was too drunk to really remember it-but regardless of that, she knows that this is a marked improvement.

"Are you thirsty?"

"A bit."

"Shall we step away and grab some punch?"

Regina nods and bites down on her lip. "I'm actually getting quite tired," she admits. "And we've such a long way back to Sherwood."

"We could stay, you know-"

"I know and staying doesn't sound absolutely terrible anymore, but I still want to see the boys in the morning."

"We did promise-"

"Yes, we did."

"And I'd hate to let them down."

Regina nods. "And I don't like being away from them. I know that's probably-"

"Perfectly reasonable," Robin says, grinning at her. "I miss them, too."

As they round the edge of the ballroom, they step to the side and search for Mary Margaret and find her chatting near the punch bowl with a young man who looks absolutely smitten. Regina smiles and takes Robin's hand, leading him around the perimeter of the room to where their hostess stands. They say their goodbyes and Regina tries not to stiffen too much when Mary Margaret throws her arms around her and thanks her for coming.

They exchange pleasantries for a few minutes before getting the chance to break away, and from across the room Elsa, Emily, Anna and Chris wave their goodbyes.

Robin's arm stretches around her waist as a footman leads them from the ballroom to collect their things and order their carriage up from the stables, and as they wait quietly for it to arrive, Regina's head falls to Robin's shoulder as her eyes start to get heavy-and if she was less tired than she is now, she'd remind him that now would be the perfect time to gloat and say, _I told you so._

Its cold and rainy and the road is rough, jostling the carriage every which way and making it impossible for her to fall asleep.

She and Robin talk lightly, planning out a lazy day for themselves and the boys for the following day. She tells Robin she'd still like to take the boys on a picnic, but worries the ground will be too wet and cold. Robin jokes that the boys would probably enjoy an afternoon of puddles and mudpies, and then they make a plan for an indoor picnic at his mother's cottage.

After their tentative plans are made, they fall quiet. She sits beside him with her head on his shoulder and her hand pressed to his chest as she thinks about the evening that's just passed. None of the night's events had gone as she thought they might.

"Did you know?" she asks quietly, as she lifts her head. "About Anna and Chip?"

"I didn't," he says. "But I think Chip left out some details."

Her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"He's not the pauper he pretends to be."

"Oh? And how do you know that?"

She's curious now, so she sits up, and they adjust themselves so they can see each other as best they can in the dark carriage.

"Well, awhile back when we were up at the lodge and you weren't talking to me-"

Regina bites down on her lip and looks away. "Oh. Sorry about that."

"It all worked itself out," he says easily. "But I went for a drink, and we got to talking."

"Ah-"

"He owns that tavern outright. It's not a part of the estate."

"Oh, I didn't realize-"

"His father wasn't a rich man but he did well for himself. He was a smart investor." Regina nods. "And his mother came from money… not that any of its left."

Regina blinks. "I didn't realize that."

"She and her sister came over from France, during the Revolution. They were young and lucky that they could start over somewhere else. They were able to flee before things got really bad."

"But they left everything behind-"

"Yes."

"That's so sad," Regina murmurs, thinking back to the stories Robin told her about his grandfather and some of the staff at the Lodge, and she finds herself thinking about her own to leave a life of privilege behind her. "And so hard," she murmurs. "All the little things, you never thought you'd miss… they suddenly matter."

Robin nods, seeming to understand. "I… think more of us find ourselves dealing with things we don't expect. More of us have been thrown curveballs than not."

"Mm, that's probably true," she replies, laying her head back against his shoulder as she draws in a breath, her thoughts shifting to the corset pinching at her sides and how much she's looking forward to peeling it off and climbing into their soft, warm bed.

"I think it's um- _oh!"_

Robin's voice halts abruptly and Regina lifts her head as the carriage jostles roughly then comes to a stop. She can hear the driver yelling to the horse to stop, and she sits up, looking around the darkened carriage.

"I think we've hit something," Robin murmurs, sitting up a little straighter and craning his neck to look out the window. When he can't quite see anything, he grabs his hat and turns back to her. "Stay here."

She nods and watches him hop down, a gust of wet wind sweeping into the carriage as the door opens and closes. Regina shivers and sits up a little straighter, watching Robin talking to their driver. She can't hear what they're saying, but there's a lot of pointing and gesturing to the carriage, and when they both crouch down in front of one of the wheels, she decides none of this is boding well.

She holds her breath and waits, looking out at the rain and watching it beat against Robin's back. She frowns, wishing there was something she could do.

Sitting back, she sighs, fiddling with her fingers as she waits-and then, almost as abruptly as the carriage stopped, the door opens and Robin climbs in, sitting down across from her on the opposite bench. He rubs his hands roughly over the arms of his coat and takes off his likely-ruined hat and frowns at it before looking to her. "A busted axle," he sighs. "The driver's going to find help."

"At this hour?"

Robin shrugged. "It's worth a try, otherwise we're stuck here until morning."

Regina sighs, looking out the window again. "What a night for rain."

"I'll admit, I'm somewhat regretting not staying overnight at the Blanchards."

Her brow arches and she chuckles wryly. "Somewhat?"

"Well, I think we can make the most of it," he says, grinning-and then, he pushes himself forward, opening up the door as another wet gust of air sweeps through and makes her shiver.

She turns around on the seat, watching curiously as Robin rummages through the trunk at the back of the carriage. Between the dark and the rain, she can't make out what he's doing, but he's moving as quickly as he can and tucking things into his coat, and in spite of herself, she can't help but laugh as he slams the trunk shut and practically hops back to the carriage.

This time when he climbs back up, he grins and plops himself down beside her. She laughs as she edges away from him in an attempt to stay dry.

"A little water never hurt anyone," he teases.

"Spoken like someone who's never endured a hurricane."

Robin's brow arches. "Have _you_ endured a hurricane?"

"No," she admits. "I'm just saying…"

Robin laughs and begins to unpack his coat. "I wasn't sure what our actual plan was for tonight, so while Belle was getting you ready, I stayed with the boys and Mal packed some things up for us." He grins as he fans a thick blanket over "She quite literally thought of everything."

"She's always been resourceful and good at planning for-" Her voice halts and her eyes narrow. "Is that-"

"It is," he nods unrolling the white little cap. "I-"

"She _really_ packed _that_ on her own?"

Robin grins. "She's… quite invested in our sex life, I'm realizing."

Regina's cheeks flush and her eyes widen as she look away. "Boundaries have never been her strong suit."

"I really only meant to get the blanket and a deck of cards I snagged from the boys' game cabinet, but-"

Blinking, she looks back to him. "You can't be serious."

"What?" he asks, shrugging as a smirk stretches over his lips. "It'd keep us warm."

"Robin!"

"What?" His eyes are wide and his smile is broad, and she feels a little flutter at her core as he takes her hand. "We don't have to, but if we _wanted to_ the chances of us getting caught are-"

"We are in the middle of a public road-"

"In the middle of the night."

"Sure, it's the middle of the night, but you never know who's out and about, creeping in the forest-"

Robin chuckles. "I feel like there's an insult in there for me, but I can't quite find it."

"No," she murmurs. "Just… a healthy dose of fear for… well… men who want to do bad things." Robin frowns as she draws in a breath, this isn't going in the direction she wanted. "Alright, so, say no one is lurking and ready to rob us, what if the driver comes back? What if he brings help with-"

"The nearest farm house is at least a mile and the town is at least five. We have at least an hour or two to… just sit here… bored and cold as we wait and wait… and wait." He frowns and then slowly a smile edges onto his lips. "Or we could have a little fun."

"We could play cards." Regina blinks, and then a laugh bubbles out of her as he frowns again. "You're the one who brought up playing cards." She sighs. "Besides that, there's no way we could get me out of this dress in this carriage and… well… have a little fun before the driver returns."

He pouts, nodding as he considers it-and she can't help but find it adorable. "It was stupid of me to offer options."

She shrugs and laughs. "I'd have been content to just… sleep."

"Been," he murmurs, his brows atching. "Past tense."

"I am wide awake now," she tells him. "And freezing thanks to the rain." He offers her the blanket but she shakes his head. "You've actually been out in it."

"Yes, but my clothes are made of thicker fabric," he says, offering her the blanket again-and then, he laughs, shaking his head as he unfolds it. "And I'm only realizing now that there's no reason we can't share it."

Regina laughs and nods. "You're just trying to get close in hopes cuddling will lead to sex."

"Might it?" he asks, his brows arching up and a stupidly bright grin spreading over his lips.

Biting down on her lip, she shakes her head. "Even if I wanted to-"

"That makes it sound like you want to."

She can't help but laugh again and she shrugs. "I mean, it's not the worst idea you've ever come up with-" Robin brightens and she reaches out, rubbing her hand over his cheek. It's smooth and though she smiles, she misses the scratchy stubble. "But the truth is, I… don't think you could get me out of this dress even if you had four additional hands."

"That… sounds like a challenge."

"One you'd fail at."

"Well, now I _have_ to try and get you out of it." His chest puffs up. "I mean, if Belle can manage-"

"With _tools_ , Robin, and a considerable amount of space. The buttons on the dress alone require a button hook and then there's also the-"

"I mean, the dress doesn't necessarily have to be off," he tells her, shrugging as he smirks, looking as though he thinks he's figured it out. "Sure, it's more fun that way, but really-"

"Alright-"

"Really?"

"Just listen," she laughs, pressing her hand to his chest. "If you can figure out a way to get in, I'll let you have your way with me."

He doesn't need anymore than that. He pushes himself forward which pushes her back down against the bench. She laughs out as Robin loses himself in the layers upon layers under her skirt. His fingers tickle her legs and hips through the fabric that covers them and when he finally pulls himself up, his cheeks are flushed with warmth and he's breathing heavily as he looks at her, wide eyed.

"What the hell?"

"I told you."

"So many buckles and laces and-" His brow furrows. "Did you _sew_ your chemise shut!?"

"I always do," she giggles. "Well, when I go out I do."

"Why?" he spats out in exasperation. "It's so… closed up."

"That's… sort of the point." She grins as he shifts himself to sit back against the carriage's bench seat and pulls her legs into his lap as she sits up. "My mother always made me do it, and it's a habit that stuck."

"As if I needed another reason to hate your mother."

Regina giggles. "It was meant to keep me virginal."

Robin blinks. "How brilliant. I can't believe it's still working, even now."

"Well, I mean, it did work… for a time." She shrugs. "My mother never quite anticipated that I'd be willing to pull them off if the right boy asked me to."

"If you can pull that thing off, I'm having you investigated for witchcraft."

"It's the corset you should be angry with, not the chemise." Robin blinks and she shakes her head. "Back in the days when my mother was trying to keep my legs shut, I didn't have… things that needed to be held in. The styles were different, too, so a pair of cotton stays would do the trick, even in a ballgown." Robin's brow arches as he looks at her, at a loss for words. "Getting dressed is… complicated, at best."

"I'm both in awe and… very sympathetic to you not wanting to go out tonight."

"Why do you think it took me all day to get dressed?" He offers a sheepish grin and shrugs. "So, sadly, the space is too small and one of us would probably end up with a black eye if we tried to get me out of this dress."

Drawing in a breath, Robin nods. "So, cards it is."

Regina nods. "As disappointing as that might be-"

"It's not disappointing," he clarifies. "It's not what I wanted to do, but it's not disappointing."

Robin reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls put a deck of cards, and she smiles as he hands them to her. Each card has a character on it-the kings are lion and the sevens are tigers the twos are brightly colored birds. She's watched the boys play with them a hundred times and the memories of it make her smile.

"So what's your game? Poker? Go Fish? Cards in a Hat?"

She grins. "Well, poker is fun, but I think it'd be hard, sitting as we are." Robin nods, agreeing. "And your top hat is already laying on the seat-"

"Upside down, too!"

She laughs softly and nods. "Like it was meant to be."

"Want to make it a bet?"

Shrugging, she nods. "What will I win when I beat you?"

Robin laughs. "You sound so sure."

"I have excellent wrists-"

"Wrists-"

"Yes, the trick to this game is all in the wrist flick and it's something I've mastered." She tips up her chin in a way that makes her seem important. and she stifles her laugh as Robin's eyes narrow. "So, tell me, what will my prize be?"

He considers it for a moment. "A kiss."

Then, it's her turn to consider-and she considers all the ways they could have fun with that. "Alright. That's fair," she tells him, a grin twisting onto her lip. "I want red."

Robin nods and splits the deck-and then for the next twenty minutes or so, they take turns trying to fling them into Robin's overturned hat.

They start off tossing the cards lazily but after a few tosses, it turns competitive—and when it comes down to Robin's final toss, Regina knocks his card out of the way.

His eyes widen and his jaw drops as gasp escapes him. "I can't believe you cheated!"

She shrugs innocently. "I want my kiss."

"And suppose I don't want to give you one?"

Her eyes roll. "That'd be a lot easier to believe if you hadn't been under my skirt less than an hour ago."

Robin's arms cross, feigning indignation. "That was before I knew you were a cheat."

Playfully she scoffs, mockingly crossing her own arms as her brows arch. "Sure, thief."

For a moment, he stares blankly back at her-and then, a smile cracks. "I… sort of like when you call me that."

"You like when I call you a thief?"

Still smiling he nods and leans in as she reaches for him, her stomach fluttering-and then, a knock comes at the carriage. Gasping, her breath catches and her heart begins to pound as she pushes Robin away from her, and as he turns, holding his arm out across her as if that could protect her, a little laugh escapes him.

"It's just the driver," he tells her, dropping his arm away and reaching for the door handle as he turns to face the rain-soaked man. "We didn't expect you so quickly!"

"Well, you see," he murmurs, climbing into the carriage. "I've gotten lucky!"

Regina frowns. "That makes one of us," she mutters under her breath as her arms fold and she listens as the driver explains they'll have a dry place to sleep for the night, and that a canvas-covered wagon is waiting for them.

They find themselves in a little barn just off the road about a mile from where their carriage sits with its broken axle. After a lengthy argument, their driver finally conceded to take a little bedroom inside of the house while she and Robin stayed the night in the barn-and there was something so quaint and comfortable about such a setting for it.

The farmer left out a couple of lanterns and showed Robin where the matches were, and after lighting the first, Robin went to inspect the hayloft, deciding that, if dry, that would be best place to sleep. For a few minutes, she busies herself lighting the rest of the lanterns. When they're all aglow, she puts out the matches and grabs one, moving to the wagon to get some of the things they hastily grabbed as they were leaving the carriage.

There's a blanket and her cloak, and she laughs at the realization that Robin grabbed his top hat and that it's still filled with playing cards. Laughing softly to herself, she scoops up the cards and arranges them back to a stack, then, having nowhere to put them, she carefully sets them back into the hat and tucks it underneath her arm.

Looking around the wagon, she squints, looking for anything else that might be theirs or beneficial, and when she spots nothing, she jumps down.

And no sooner than she does, she feels the back of her dress catch and hears the sound of fabric tearing.

"Oh, damn it," she breathes out, craning her neck to see the of her dress. She reaches around herself, touching her fingers to the tear at the back of the dress and she grimaces, thinking of how disappointed her mother would be-how her brow would crease and she'd click her tongue just before some sharp, hurtful comment came out and caused tears to rush to her eyes. Swallowing hard, she pushes away thought, spinning to look at the wagon, her eyes almost instantly setting on a little hook nailed in the wood. "Damn you…"

"What happened?" Robin asks, peeking out from the hayloft.

"Nothing, really," she calls back. "There's… a hook on the wagon and it caught my dress. It tore."

"A hook," he repeats. "But it just tore the dress? You're not hurt?"

Grinning she looks up at him, glad for his concern. "Yes. Just the dress. Remind me to have Ruby take a look at it when she's at Sherwood next?"

Robin nods and a grin twists onto his lips. "It's quite cozy up here. Come up!"

"Haylofts usually are," she murmurs, thinking to the nights she spent with Daniel in the one above the stables at Dragon Head. "Even in winter." Robin holds out his hand, quickly taking the blanket from her and tossing it behind himself, then he takes the lanterns, and as he reaches for her hand, she hands him the top hat instead. He gives her a puzzled look and she shrugs. "If we get bored…"

"Aren't you tired?"

"Not anymore," she tells him as she reaches the top of the ladder and takes his hand, letting him help her the rest of the way. "Are you?"

Sitting back against a hay bale, he shakes his head. "Not really."

"Can you tell me how bad the back of my dress is?" she asks, getting up onto her knees and turning her back to him. "Is it fixable?"

Her stomach flutters are Robin's fingers slide along the tear, pushing inside of the dress and touching to the back of her corset. "I… think so. You're missing a few buttons and the seam ripped. Nothing your cloaklet won't cover up when we leave here in the morning."

"Even as low as it is?"

"Yes, even that low." A little chuckle escapes him. "I, um… I am very aware of where that cloaklet ended." Her brow arches and a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "I spent an awful amount of time focusing on that… area of you."

"Oh?"

He chuckles again. "Yes, I was… terribly glad that Belle picked that particular dress. You've only worn it a few times, but I always appreciate it's fit."

"It's fit-"

"Even with a thousand layers beneath it."

She can't help but giggle as she turns back to him. "Well, I… I suppose a ripped seam isn't awful," she says, grinning, "And, I'll admit, even just one less confining layer is nice. I much prefer this dress, and really, any other, without all the excess fabric. It's more comfortable."

He smirks back at her then settles back against the hay bale once more, reaching for his top hat as he looks up at her, looking like there's something he wants to add. But he says nothing and reaches into the hat, pulling out the deck of cards. "Want to play a game?"

Her brow arches as she moves to sit beside him, watching as he begins to shuffle the cards. "Sure."

"Do you remember how to play poker?"

She nods. "I think so."

"How about I go easy on you the first round or two? That way you can get a refresher and-"

"Don't be insulting," she tells him, feigning offense. "I remember perfectly fine and, if I remember correctly, the last time we played, I kicked your ass."

He laughs. "Such vulgarity-"

"An adequate response to something patronizing."

"Fair enough," he tells her, still shuffling as another laugh escapes him. "Since you're so confident in your poker skills, why don't we make it a bit more interesting?"

"Oh?"

"Well, you see, there's another variation of this game-"

"I'm listening."

He nods. "So, in this particular version of the game, whenever a player loses, they must remove an article of clothing."

A hearty laugh bubbles out of her. "You will be naked in no time."

"That's a bit overly confident."

"My poker skills aside," she says, looking pointedly at him as she remembers his exasperation as he came up from under her skirt. "I am wearing at least triple the articles of clothing that you are. I believe we covered that earlier this evening."

Robin smirks a bit sheepishly. "That's… a very good point."

"Still want to play it this way?"

He grins. "Of course."

"And if I win, will I get that kiss you owe me?"

His brow arches. "Is that what you want?"

"Well, I want my kiss, but I don't think it's fair to have only one prize for winning two games."

His eyes narrow. "You're right. That doesn't sound fair."

Biting down on her lip, she grins. "So, how about this," she begins, "when I win-"

"And what if I win?" he asks, cutting in, his eyes widening. "Just because you're a good card player and better at mathematics-"

"And isn't that what this game is? A card game and a mathematics game?" Robin frowns and she laughs. "Alright. So, _whomever_ wins… how about that person keeps the thing they want as a prize a secret, and reveal it upon their win."

"A secret-"

"Yes," she tells him, nodding. "I think it'll heighten the stakes a bit, not knowing what's on the line."

He grins. "Okay."

"Okay," she repeats. "Now deal."

Robin deals the first hand, and Regina wins it-and as he offers a cheeky little smirk, he pulls off his pocket watch. Her eyes roll and she pouts when she loses the next hand, pulling off the ribbon beneath her dress, arching her brow as she drops it down next to his watch. Robin loses the next two, removing one boot and then the other, playing off the second consecutive loss as intentional, making a comment about feeling awkward only wearing one boot. A bad hand of cards cost her the next round and her hair comb and Robin's lips part as he watches her hair tumble down around her shoulders. He lets her deal the next round and when he looks down at his cards, he accuses her of cheating-and then, when he loses, he scrunches up his nose, realizing he's out of creative options. Then, drawing in a breath, he pulls off the cravat around his neck-and she giggles, realizing that he only has three more losses before either his shirt or pants come off.

To even things out, she intentionally loses a round, and as Robin's eyes narrow with skepticism, she grins and pulls off her necklace. On the next round, she gets a lucky hand and she doesn't hide her excitement-and with a low groan, Robin pulls off his coat.

"I thought you'd go for the sock."

He grins and rolls his eyes. "I love to be unpredictable."

"Mm-"

"Do you know what you want yet?"

"Yes," she says, a grin twisting onto her lips. "Do you want to know?"

"No," he tells her. "I'm having too much fun considering it." She laughs and shakes her head, then deals the cards-and as soon as he gets them, he tosses them down and tugs off a sock. "There was no coming back from that hand."

She loses the next two rounds and loses her shoes-and then, Robin loses the second sock.

"I'm usually better than this," he tells her, dropping the sock into the pile beside them. "You know that, right?"

"I do," she admits. "It seems like tonight's my lucky night."

He offers a little smirk. "I was hoping I'd be the lucky one."

Regina laughs and lets him deal the next round-and this one goes on for a bit longer. This time, it seems like the both have something. But her straight loses to his royal flush-and a smirk twists onto her lips as she rolls her shoulders a couple of times, pulling an arm from her dress as she gets up onto her knees and tries to wriggle from out of it entirely. Robin watches with arched brows and it takes more time than it should, but finally, it pools around her knees.

"How did-"

"That rip loosened it up quite a bit, then once one arm was out, I just had to wiggle the right way to free myself." She frowns a little as she rubs her shoulder. "Though, it seems one pain's been replace by another. I think I jarred my shoulder shimmying out of that thing."

"Do you want-"

"Deal the cards. I want to win," she says, a grin twisting on her lips as his eyes settle on her body, hovering at the top of her corset, pushing up her breasts beneath a thin layer of muslin. "This is as naked as I plan to get."

Sighing, he shuffles the cards. "I feel like I should say a prayer or something-"

She laughs softly. "Seems like an odd time to be praying."

"Yes, well, I'll need all the help getting those layers of fabric off of you… even if I manage to win a few hands."

Shrugging, she smirks. Now that the dress is off, the rest isn't as difficult as it seems, but she won't admit that to him. "Want to make it really interesting?"

"At the moment, I am already _very interested_ ," he tells her, offering a sheepish grin as his eyes shift up from her breasts. "I'm not sure I could handle any more _interesting things."_ And then he laughs. "What do you have in mind?"

"If I win the next hand, I pick what you remove."

"And if I win, I get to pick what you remove?"

"Yes."

A sly little grin stretches onto his lips. "I think I like that."

"Me too," she tells him-and then when she wins, she takes longer than necessary to tell him she wants him to remove his shirt. She watches as he undoes the first few buttons, grinning as she bites down on her bottom lip. "I want to do it."

He stops, swallowing hard as she crawls over to him. She bites down on her lip as she slowly undoes the buttons, shifting her eyes up to meet his as her hands push into his shirt. She presses her fingers to his chest and grins as she draws in a breath-and then, before either of them can take it any further than that, she pulls away, settling back on the opposite side of him.

He pouts as she deals the cards, and when she loses the next hand, she can't help but laugh as Robin stares at her, trying to figure out what pieces of clothing are connect to others and which ones have to be taken off to free up others. He offers a puzzled little chuckle, and she grins. "The corset," she tells him, knowing it's the piece that's holding it all together.

"Even though it's under the… um… skirt things?"

"Petticoats."

"Ah. Right."

"I'll tell you what," she says, pulling her hair to the side over her shoulder. "You unlace my corset and I'll remove one of the petticoats."

It takes him awhile, but he manages it, and as she helps him pull the corset off of her, she breathes out for the first time all night-and the relief is overwhelming. She takes a moment to relish it, and he doesn't seem to mind, grinning as he watches her stretch, and then she stands up and unties one of the petticoats, pulling it down carefully so that the others don't come down with it.

"How many-"

"Too many," she sighs as she sits back down.

It's her turn to deal and the next round is probably their best. She frowns when she loses, but she can't help but giggle at Robin's triumphant little grin as he tells her to pull off another petticoat. She does it and momentarily, he brightens-but it quickly fades as he realizes that she's no less covered than she was before.

She wins the next hand and Robin's pants are quick to come off, leaving him in a pair of short pants.

She smirks as he casts them aside-his shorts are slightly tented at the front and his skin looks warm in the glow of the lanterns. From the beginning, she's known what she'd ask him for, if she were to win, but now she wants to drag the game out a little longer to see if she can rile him up a bit more.

So, she loses the next hand and the one after that, and each loss has her tugging off an earring. Robin frowns and she laughs, grinning at him as she deals the cards. She loses the next hand, too, but this time, not intentionally, and she pulls off the second petticoat, leaving her in the two chemises.

"Seems like this is anyone's game now," he tells her as he looks down at his cards, looking confident.

"It does _seem_ that way," she murmurs-and then, she tosses down her own cards, laughing as she arches a brow, waiting to see his. Slowly, he drops down his cards-another losing hand-and she grins as he hooks his thumbs into the band of his short pants. He undoes the first button, then slowly works on the next three before standing and pulling them down.

She smirks, watching as his cock springs free, standing out, slightly erect as he offers her a sheepish little grin. "So, what do I owe you, m'lady?"

"Well, first, I want my kiss," she tells him, reaching out and tugging on his hand as she rises up on her knees. "Come here."

He easily obliges, sinking down onto his knees as his hand brushes up over her cheek, pulling her in. She grins, turning her face in his hand and nuzzling his palm before drawing in a breath and pulling back slightly. He blinks, his brow furrowing as he looks at her. She watches as a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he watches her reach down and tug the first chemise up over her head-and a moment later, her lips come crashing down on his.

The kiss is hard and intense, her hands tanging in his hair and pushing at the back of his head, pulling him closer and deeper into the kiss. Breathlessly, she pulls back, her lips kissing over his cheeks, grinning as she feels the first hint on stubble forming over them and she exhales a long, satisfied breath as his hands slip down over her ass. He squeezes gently as his lips find the crook of her neck-and as much as it kills her, she stops, pulling back as a smirk edges over her lips.

"That was quite a kiss-"

"It _still could be_ quite a kiss."

"Mm, that's true," she nods, "but, of course, if we never stop, we don't get to move on to the next thing."

"The next thing-"

"Mm, my prize for winning the poker game."

He takes a breath as if bracing himself for disappointment.

She hesitates for a moment, rubbing her hands over his shoulders as she grins, looking down between them as her hand slides down his chest and stomach, her fingers curling around his cock before giving it a few quick pumps though her palm to ensure he's ready for what'll come next.

"Do you, um… do you still have that cap?"

He nods as she pulls back and rises to her feet. "In your coat?"

"Yes."

She grins and reaches for his coat, fishing it out of his pocket. For a moment, she looks down at it, then looks back to him, keeping her eyes fixed on him as she pushes the chemise's straps from her shoulders, letting it fall to her hips. He swallows hard and his cock twitches at first sight of her bare chest-and then, she pushes the chemise down over her hips and steps out of it before sinking back down beside him.

He releases a shaky breath as she takes his cock in her hand again, giving it one more pump though her closed hand before lowering her lips to it. She takes him into her mouth completely, getting him sufficiently wet before pulling back and slipping the cap onto him, grinning as she looks up at him and wraps her fingers around him, helping to form the cap to his cock.

Once it's on, she gets up onto her knees, climbing on top of him and sinking down on his cock, taking him completely and riding him until they're both breathless and shaking as their climaxes overtake them.

They settle together on the hay beneath the blanket, the lanterns still burning. She rolls onto her side and he holds her from behind, his body formed around hers and enveloping her in warmth as he makes a crack about letting her win. She laughs and rolls her eyes and tells him he should just be glad she wanted something that benefited both of them. She nestles herself in the crook of his arm, laughing softly to herself as he presses a warm kiss to her jaw.

"Thank you," she murmurs quietly as she reaches up and laces her fingers through his. "I, um… I was surprised by a lot of things tonight."

"Me too," he tells her, offering a groggy chuckle. "Especially by my wife's shrewd poker playing skills."

"Luck."

"Perhaps, but that's not all there was to it."

She grins. "But I mean it. I'm glad you made me go to Mary Margaret's little party."

"It did go well, didn't it?"

"I had fun."

"You deserved to."

"I'd like to see her again… even though she's sort of annoying."

"She's sweet though."

Regina sighs. "I appreciate her kindness… in inviting me and talking to me and-"

"The kindness was deserved."

"You think that, but-"

"Regina-"

"I'm not going to say anything self-deprecating," she says, laughing softly. "I was just going to say I'm not used to that from strangers and I was glad to be wrong."

"I should make you put that in writing."

She laughs again. "I enjoy the others, too. I hope they come up to the Lodge next year."

"We can invite them again, formally and sooner," he reminds her. "We'll be up there soon enough."

"Maybe," she murmurs back, her eyes growing heavy. "We'll take about it tomorrow."

Robin presses a kiss to her jaw. "It is tomorrow," he tells her. "Look at the sky."

Her eyes open and cast up to the tiny window at the back of the hayloft, and a smile pulls onto her lips as she watches the sky turn from a deep purple to a soft lavender. It's fleeting, but gorgeous, and she knows this means they'll only be afforded a couple of hours of sleep-and as that realization settles in, she finds herself feeling a little sad and not quite sure she wants such a rare evening like this one to be over. But then, as Robin pulls her a little closer and nuzzles his chin against her shoulder, the sadness is replaced by a surge of hope-hope that another night like this one looms in the future.


End file.
